


Graveyard of stars

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alien Planet, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Space, Chases, Gang Violence, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: In a distant future where humankind has colonized space, Hunapo Davies is tasked with retrieving an artifact from a planet in ruins that could finally put an end to gang warfare that is tearing the galaxy apart - by destroying next to everything in it. Unfortunately, a relatively easy task is made far more complicated by rival gang member Logan, who swoops in and steals it from out of their hands. Now they have to chase him down and retrieve the artifact before they end up on the wrong side of its destructive powers.





	1. The lonesome treasure hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Hunapo- New Zealand
> 
> Logan- Australia
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this gets done in time… still, this is my piece for the Hetalia Big Bang run on tumblr, a little sci-fi OzNZ because even though I already had so many plot ideas in my head, I went and made something completely new for this because I wanted to put in the effort. Plus any ideas I already had were stupidly long or crossover aus and I wanted to have a go at making my own story and world.
> 
> This was really fun to write, and I really should do more OzNZ stuff… or finish my other OzNZ fic first. That might be good. I don’t know why I set this in space - I’m actually terrified of what’s out there because I watched too much Doctor Who as a kid. And watched a few too many playthroughs of Alien Isolation. Alright, one, but it was a scary game. Plus the idea of being stuck out in space without a suit is… no.
> 
> I’d like to thank my partner artists and beta reader: verystrongarms, ylakerrananimehomo, ask-informant-belarus and wandschrankheld, they are all fantastic people. I will be linking to the art in future chapters so look out for that.
> 
> Warnings for blood and death and fights and injuries. And [fictional] gang wars and activities. And drug and alcohol abuse. And liberal use of the word cunt. You know, the usual. It’s not exactly a jolly story.

 

_ The sky is so tragically beautiful, a graveyard of stars _

...

 

To the untrained eye, it was the ruins of an ancient civilisation. 

And on the matter of ancient civilizations, Hunapo Davies was rather untrained indeed. They didn’t wonder, for example, how the dust from craters and rubble had not completely settled; or how the forces of nature on this distant planet hadn’t reclaimed what was hers and plants had yet to spring from the dirt to strangle and smother the work of whatever sentient lifeform had lived here. They decided not to wonder about the ashy black shadows on the wall of what looked like a school, though did free the remains of a trapped family pet from the house it had tried to flee a little too late. It was little more than dried skin at this point, dull violet as all five tentacle limbs flailed in vain. But it didn’t matter so much to Hunapo, as much as they hated animal death. They were here as a flippant treasure hunter, not some archaeologist or arrogant hero. 

Then again, a foreign planet and alien way of life was usually enough to consume every ounce of attention, even for the cynical and even on a life or death mission. Life or death - as in - if they didn’t finish it, they’d probably be taken out and their body dumped within the gravitational pull of the nearest sun. At least the remaining buildings here looked pretty. They were carved into the base of the mountain, buildings like little jewelled sandcastles, tiny trapeziums clearly built to withstand the elements and powerful shelling. But even those had begun to crumble under time and the force of whatever it was that had wiped out its inhabitants.

The outermost houses weren’t much to sniff at, despite being in the best condition, lying on the fringes of their owners’ city as one-storey huts decorated with the most crude, simple patterns on the doorframe. They further they travelled, though, the more strange, tiny gems seemed to fill the carvings, a myriad of colours, stones Hunapo couldn’t possibly hope to identify, though they had to wonder if they were valuable. Maybe if they brought some back, someone in the gang could identify and value them, and maybe go on and sell them. How had no one else stumbled across this bounty lying undisturbed for so long? 

The city centre, however, was something else entirely.

More square pyramids towered above them, dazzling with yet more alien jewels as towers were bridged with crumbling walkways. Stones and rubble lay buried under ash, and when Hunapo wiped the dirt from one such shard, it revealed runes and round symbols dotted with slivers of crystal. They walked along winding roads, red brick almost completely hidden under scorched ash and debris, a speck amongst the ruins of these elaborate, grandiose beings, whole families wiped out in the blink of an eye.

A gang was like a family, they had been told since they were a child. Well, family were enemies that were harder to get rid of, it seemed, and the appeal of such a thing was beyond the realm of Hunapo’s comprehension. They were an island, a comet drifting through life, safe in solitude as long as they only saw what they were supposed to, and didn’t ask questions.

They had so many questions now, though. What it must be like to live on a planet illuminated by a green sun, barely a speck in the indigo sky, for example, half-hidden amongst pale, limey clouds. They were also curious about the moons, all nine still visible in the early morning light, of various sizes, shapes and colours. Soon enough on their solitary walk, they decided the little dark one with what looked like a spiral pattern on the surface was their favourite. The vegetation, by contrast, was warm with its bright orange and red hues, not invading the city yet but still all around, covering the planet in a forest of fire.

“So long, then.” When Hunapo dismounted from their ride, it didn’t have time to acknowledge their words before melting into a puddle of slime. Gaquestrians - hideous neon green creatures with the body of a horse and the head of a snail, emitting slime wherever they went - were good for one use. A stolen science experiment, once they were activated, their owner had until they dismounted before the creatures died. Hunapo, in all honesty, hated using them - their existence was short-lived suffering - but they’d needed to cover a lot of ground after landing their ship in the one stretch of land that wasn’t dense forest or ruins. And besides, they’d certainly not wanted to make their way through an alien jungle on foot. Some of the plants had been partially mobile, it seemed, vines reaching out to grab at them and their ride. Had it not been for Hunapo’s quick movements and sharp spear, they would currently be slowly digesting in the belly of one such monster.

Hunapo was only going through the city centre because it was the shortest route to the mountain looming over them, in pieces, and they feared they would not find a safe route to the core of it. What if their destination was blocked or buried under rubble forever and they’d have failed?

‘What if’s never helped anyone. There was one way to find out and it would involve not thinking of possibilities and just reaching that mountain before someone else did.

It was that thought that lead them to quicken their pace. If what they’d heard was true, then this artifact was very sought-after indeed and they wouldn’t be alone forever. It had to be them that found it, because whoever didn’t have it was dying horribly or would be left with nothing except a life of misery. Toil. Little more than slavery at this point.

But not Hunapo. They’d be a hero. They’d be adored and wanted and rewarded generously, not least with their life. There wasn’t much else they could cling to at this point. Things would finally turn around for them and they could even retire on their own little planet. Somewhere with enough water to keep them occupied and no one to bother them, away from the mess the rest of the galaxy would become; that was all they wanted.

The universe could burn around them for all they cared. There wasn’t a single species that wouldn’t deserve it.

Hunapo coughed at the dust and ash everywhere, in the air and on their boots as they kicked it up from the ground. People. They were breathing in people. Or some form of sentient life form had had enough intelligence to build a civilised society. Long ago, right?

Hunapo wondered what they did to deserve it; probably started a war they couldn’t finish. Wanted to wipe out a neighbouring planet and set up a civilized colony, of course. They had buildings and a way of doing things, surely that made them better than everyone else.

Hunapo almost missed those times when they had had a heart.

Being bitter and spiteful had become exhausting over the years, but that was the life they now had. Maybe there had been a time they had had hope for the future, were still willing to find kindness in people, but aside from their best friend there was no one in the world that cared. Hunapo was an island. An island. Alone.

Still, this wasn’t the time. Hunapo took a deep breath, quickening their pace as they made a beeline for the mountain.

 

… 

 

The caverns looked like they’d cave in at any given opportunity. Even half collapsed, the mountain boasted a vast collection of caves and tunnels leading further and further towards her heart, or towards dead ends or traps. Hunapo had had more than a few run-ins with those over the past few hours. They hadn’t had a lot to go on, though, just a half-complete map and some vague instructions from their boss based on previous - unsuccessful -  quests to this planet, but it had insured that they were alive up to this point, so it was something. 

This time though, they were certain this was the right door, grand and imposing, stretching far before them up to the ceiling and if there was one thing they’d sussed about this civilization, it was that these beings sure loved going all out in their architecture, from the arched ceilings to the stories carved into the walls, depicting a history Hunapo cared not for. This particular cavern was no exception. The door was carved in symbols Hunapo couldn’t hope to decipher, that probably told a riddle that would aid them in figuring out how to open this thing.

A smooth plate right in the middle of the door seemed perfect for their hand - or whatever these things’ hands looked like - but it couldn’t be that simple, not with the magnitude of what lay behind.

It made sense to try touching it first. Well, not them, that would be ridiculous, but they had to see what kind of technology they were dealing with here. They picked a tiny stone out of their pocket, where they’d been stashing them away for times like these, crouching down some distance away and tossing it over.

It bounced off the door. Nothing happened.

Hunapo frowned at that. Yeah, where were the daggers? The poison darts? An explosion of some sorts, maybe? They couldn’t quite think of how they were supposed to solve this final task.

And just like that, they could’ve slapped themselves for being so stupid: _it probably only reacted to organic matter_.

To test that theory, Hunapo crept closer. They unclipped their spear from their belt as they went, unfurling it to reveal a pointed tip of hot, ruby-coloured crystal, and it would be red hot once actually turned on. They poised a finger over the tip, bracing themselves as they slowly brought it down, drawing blood with a sting. They tried not to hiss as a little red drop welled up on their fingertip, face blank as they flicked it towards the door.

The little dark splatter landed on the stone, which swallowed it like a wave. Just as they had thought: nothing organic could touch it safely.

As they wondered how this would protect the artifact from androids - or those with prosthetics - Hunapo crouched down once more and placed their hand on the ground, turning on the generator in their spear to full power and waiting for it to heat up to a searing hot laser that could cut through diamond, probably, if they wished. Cutting out a crude handprint was still a struggle though, moreso getting their cast out of the floor to actually use. The grips on their gloves - the ones stored in their back pocket for such an occasion - helped them use the stone as a mit easily though, and once they pressed it against the door it fell away easily.

Too easily.

This wasn’t the end, was it?

Given the amount of bodies slowly decaying in the next room they found themselves in, Hunapo suspected this was only the start of one gruelling afternoon.

They didn’t know how to feel about recognising some of the corpses as other gang members, or at the very least the symbol on their jackets: jagged balls with pointed beaks, long and perfect for stabbing people in the neck. Kiwis. Hunapo was well acquainted with the feral ones - they ran wild on their home planet - and they were sweet, docile creatures. 

The genetically engineered ones, however, were killing machines that would swarm their victims, piercing veins and windpipes, if they could. They were the symbol of their gang now.

Their gang had kidnapped the scientist that made them, forced the poor bastard to reveal their secrets and tossed him - still alive - out of a ship and into the vacuum. Nasty way to go.

So would being speared to death by a kiwi, they supposed.

The room stretched out before them, wide with an enormous, sloping ceiling encrusted with smooth, blue crystal, and right at the end was an almost soothing white light, dim and emanating from an unknown object perched on a little podium. Their goal?

It had clearly been the goal of every decaying corpse belonging to those who’d made it here so far. A floor littered with pressure plates seemed a little basic for such an artifact, but they supposed it had done a good job so far.

Little stones wouldn’t help them here, Hunapo feared, taking the blunt end of their spear and pressing against the nearest stone tile. Nothing.

Hunapo tried the stones around it for good measure, and the one directly to the right triggered a dagger-like silver javelin Hunapo just barely managed to avoid by diving onto their stomach painfully. 

They’d have to take things slow. Cautious, careful, they had the time and privacy for it, at least. This was the last leg of their quest and there was no need to rush and mess up now. Patience… patience… their throat clenched and they quivered. Patience… they were so close, yet it could all go so wrong. Patience… If they failed… Patience… 

Hunapo tap tapped away at the floor, inching forward step by step. The further they made it across the cavern, the sparser the bodies grew, the fewer outstretched hands pointed blindly at an unreachable goal; Hunapo’s goal.

The hairs on the back of their neck pricked up once they laid eyes on the artifact, clear for the first time. The white crystal joined the head of their spear as the only two points of light in the room, levitating above its stone pedestal so innocently. It was pretty, and could easily be mistaken for a mere trinket to be polished and embedded in a necklace.

In reality though, it was powerful beyond measure and they had to have it.

They may have been a tad hasty navigating the last few metres of the puzzle, which may have been the reason they missed a javelin through the hip by millimetres. But, somehow, Hunapo reached the end of the hall unscathed, and before them lay the artifact in all its beauty.

This couldn’t be the end of the traps though, surely? 

They studied the artifact carefully, rubbing their chin as they wondered how to go about this. Did this podium, again, rely on weight to trigger the trap? And if so, what would that trap be? 

Just as Hunapo wondered if they could replace the artifact with a rock and get away safely, the warm blade of a weapon pressed sharply against their throat, held in place by a large hand just in the corner of their vision. A thick arm wrapped around their middle, trapping their arms by their side.

“Now I don’t want to go spillin’ any blood,” a gravelly voice hissed in their ear, “so you better not start strugglin’.”

This was probably the point where Hunapo should've listened to the fear creeping up inside of them, the thoughts in their head telling them they were about to die. But Hunapo wasn’t one for putting up with any more indignities than the ones already inflicted on them by their gang.

“Eat shit,” they spat, jerking their body from side to side. At least if they were to be killed here, it would be quick. Merciful, even.

But the stranger didn’t kill them; a weakness, Hunapo’s mind screamed in indignation as they were thrown to the floor. A heavy boot pinned them to the stone slabs, squashing them into the rock and knocking the wind from their body.

“Come on, I don’t wanna be killin’ kids, bub,” the voice belonged to a young man, no older than them at a glance, and Hunapo scowled at the notion of being called a child. Alright, so he was tall, built like a tree trunk and looked strong enough to tear someone apart like a piece of paper, but the babyface grin and mischievous eyes gave him away easily. The black, coiled, marking on his neck - coincidentally - easily gave away his profession. 

The Death Adders were the main rivals of Hunapo’s gang - the Owennii -; just as deadly, just as violent and just as willing to see Hunapo dead if they made one wrong move. This guy didn’t seem to get the picture that they were a deadly individual, and Hunapo supposed this was an opportunity, a chance to still get the artifact and a life of peace.

For now, they pretended he’d won, observing and plotting.

“Thanks for showing me the way,” the stranger boomed, leaning forward to make sure they got the full force of his mocking laugh. “Hell, I’m almost tempted to let you solve the last part for me too.”

In his hand was a smooth white boomerang as long as his lower arm, the thing erupting with blue fire that left him unscathed. “Stay down, okay?” And with that, he pulled a small diamond-shaped object from his pocket, dropping it down on Hunapo’s chest. It splattered into a sickly purple mess, a jelly-like substance that hardened to a plastic plasma wrap of film covering their chest and glueing their arms in place.

“Fuck you,” they wiggled and bicycled their legs in an attempt to get to their feet. Fuck him! Fuck his gang! That artifact was theirs and they weren’t leaving without it!

“Hey, calm down there, I’m trying to think,” the Death Adder rubbed at his square chin as he paced around the pedestal, pausing to reach a hand out and snatching it back within millimetres of touching the artifact. Shame. Hunapo had been hoping he’d disintegrate - or whatever last minute defenses this thing had on it. Save them the trouble.

Unfortunately, the stranger seemed to have caught the same train of thought. “Well, kid, you might just come in handy once again.” The small smile and glint in his eyes made Hunapo’s stomach drop. Okay, he was smarter than he looked -  and he looked like one big dumb bastard.

He grabbed them by the collar and pulled them to their feet, shoving them towards the pedestal. “Be a dear and fetch the artifact for me.” Before they could refuse - hit him with another round of profanity even - or think about grabbing the artifact for themselves and running, they felt the creeping trickle of burning hot energy in the small of their back. They arched themselves forward away from the bladed boomerang, trying not to shiver.

“Go on,” the Death Adder prodded the back of their head with a finger.

So Hunapo reached a hand up, struggling against their bonds to get a good position before grasping at the pedestal. Their hand didn’t burn up in some invisible atmosphere, and their body didn’t disintegrate into pieces. For now, anyway.

“Everything seems in order,” Hunapo commented.

“Stop trying to weasel out, short stuff.”

“Fuck you,” Hunapo snarled as their fingers clasped the edge of the artifact, pulling it out of its levitating state. For a second - less, even - they let it nestle in their hands, power coursing through their veins from the tiny cube, the very strength to wipe whole galaxies from existence. For that one moment, they were complete, one being with infinite might and nothing could stop them.

Then a pair of large - but clever - gloved hands took the artifact from them, and the world both figuratively and literally began to crumble around Hunapo. As the Death Adder knocked them to the ground, laughing about how they had as much chance of making it out as the flightless bird on their jacket, Hunapo wondered how it was possible to be drained of most of their energy already.

The ground shuddered as they scrambled up, knocking them to the floor once more. Of course: the final trap! Now that the artifact had been taken by force, both Hunapo and the stranger had mere minutes to get out of the caverns or they’d be crushed under tons of rocks. 

The stranger had the right idea. Artifact stowed safely away, he’d whipped out a large, flat board from it’s hold on his back, letting it hover in the air as he pushed it towards the trap floor. The Death Adder threw himself flat against the board as it took off, soon scrambling to his feet to ride the air, dodging falling rocks like this was all a game. 

Hunapo scowled. He could have at least had the decency to untie them first. They swung their legs in the air to give them the momentum needed to jump to their feet. With that taken care of, Hunapo fished into their trouser pockets for two items, and it really wasn’t a big deal which they found first.

Their collapsed spear made itself known by almost slicing their fingers off, but at least they had it now. The second was a tiny, jellied cube they threw to the floor before climbing on the gaquestrian that formed from the expanding mass. With one hand cutting at their binds with the tip of their spear, Hunapo scrabbled to grab at the gaquestrian’s slimy mane as it darted towards the wall of the cavern, leaping up to gallop along against the rock. Maybe they should’ve done this to begin with: use a gaquestrian to get in and get out before the stranger could think to follow, but all that really mattered at this moment in time was not being crushed to death.

They were hot on the stranger’s tail as they escaped the main cavern, arms cleaned against the tendrils of the gaquestrian’s mane, ignoring their injuries and the sweat dripping into their eyes. He flew high above them, weaving between columns of rock and daggers of stalactites. One swipe of their spear sent a laser arrow up that only just missed him, followed by a flurry of yet more unsuccessful attempts. A desperate hand. They trembled and shivered. They weren’t giving up on getting the artifact back until they were dead!

Hunapo’s gaquestrian swerved to avoid falling rocks, and they were wrenched with it, finding themselves running along a rather precarious ceiling, crumbling around them all as Hunapo struggled to keep ahold of the slimy mane. Their legs tightened around the thing’s belly, but they could feel themselves slipping bit by bit as panic swarmed their senses. The Death Adder was below them now, and Hunapo risked falling to their death to fire another laser at him.

It hit!

The Death Adder gave a gargled cry as he fell, grabbing his board with his remaining hand and - for a moment - he looked like he would fall to his death anyway. But, despite the shock and blood loss, he pulled himself back on, still flying through the rubble. His face was contorted with pain and desperation, his flight no longer a game but a life or death struggle.

Hunapo scowled, ducking back to the side as the roof finally collapsed with the thunderous roar of a dying giant. A rock that would’ve flattened them missed Hunapo by nanometres, the force almost pulling them from their ride. Down below, the stranger’s left hand was hanging on by a flap of skin, but he was still fighting. The boomerang missed Hunapo by a miracle, arching round to join its owner again.

Hunapo drew up alongside him, reaching out and roughly shoving a hand down his jacket pocket. Bingo! Wave upon wave of power surged through them as they prized the artifact back. Before the Death Adder could retaliate they were surging ahead, on top of the world. Hunapo knew they had the power to destroy that pest, right then and there. They gazed into the light of the mouth of the cave. So close to freedom. Should they kill him?

Hunapo slowed, just a fraction. It would be so easy...

But a swish of a blade sent them lurching forward as that damn boomerang cut through their gaquestrian’s legs and the thing melted from underneath them. Hunapo flew forward, landing flat on their stomach, outside the crumbling remains of the cave in a pile of orange, bulbous vegetation. The cube flew from their hand as an all-powerful electric shock coursed through their body. Hunapo writhed and curled into a ball, almost immobile and completely unable to get up and move their stolid, stiff muscles.

Their heart… it couldn’t end here...

Aftershocks twitched at their muscles, but Hunapo could see the artifact lying before them, glistening in the bright sunlight. They reached out a trembling hand, but the cackling stranger had already swooped down to snatch it. His laughter resounded through the forest as he surfed away.

… 

Hunapo’s chest still throbbed as they dismounted from their third gaquestrian, not noticing as the thing crumbled away behind them. Their ship was before them, surrounded by red, leafy trees where they’d left it only hours ago. Still in one piece, it seemed. 

That Death Adder bastard would already be flying in his little ship towards his boss. Luckily, this planet was situated in the arse crack of the universe and they’d have plenty of time to catch up to the cunt if they hurried. 

But as Hunapo went to climb into their ship, they noticed a puddle of thick, black oil pooled below the hull. Jumping off the ladder, they scrambled underneath to find the entirety of the ship’s fuel had been drained onto the ground, rendering them stranded.

A sticky, oily note was pinned to the underside, and Hunapo scowled as they ripped it off to read.

 

 

_Have fun sweetheart. I’ll think about you when the world ends._

_Logan xxx_

  
  


Hunapo balled the note up and threw it across the clearing.

“You rotten cunt!”


	2. The winner and loser

“I got it!”

The crackling face of Alfred F Jones grinned back at him through the screen, smile bright as usual and eyes shining jovially. “Good on ya! I knew you could do it!” 

His pointed teeth gleamed and his long ears twitched in excitement at the news, and maybe Logan even saw a shine to his tanned purple face. Alfred was a strange one alright, not quite human but nothing like Logan had seen before, and he’d seen some jacked up shit in his time; the boy’s past was a complete mystery, showing up one day to join the lowest ranks of the gang and to this day Logan was the only person who really trusted him. A stupid decision, most likely. If Alfred was some sort of spy or saboteur then fuck Logan and fuck any chance of him living long with a furious space gang on his back. He liked to think he was a good judge of character though, and Alfred seemed innocent and even a bit of an airhead at times. If it was an act then it was a damn good one.

Logan laughed. “Course I could! No biggie.” Well, maybe that was something of a lie. His friend didn’t need to know that though.

“I gotta admit,” Alfred’s smile fell ever so slightly, “I was worried about you, man; I mean, you were gone a pretty long time. Thought you-” He couldn’t exactly say it, but Logan got the jist. Poor kid. What the hell was he doing living a life like this with friends like Logan?

“Sorry,” he replied with an only half-apologetic grin, “had to stitch myself up.” He held up his left hand as proof, crude staples glistening in the dim light. The thing was barely functional now, but he still had it. Logan knew he’d have to stop off somewhere and get something to heal it properly though.

“Oh snap,” Alfred winced, “how’d you do that?”

“Some little Owennii dickhead. Didn’t know when to quit but the bastard won’t be bothering me anymore.”

“Good, good.”

Logan gave a half-hearted smile which quickly fell. “Look, I’m about to fuckin’ black out here, and I gotta long way to go. Talk to you later, then?”

“Sure thing. Want me to tell the boss? About you getting the artifact and stuff, not the fucking up your hand.”

“Go ahead, thanks,” and with that, Logan switched off the screen, reclining back in his chair and stretching -  and hitting the roof with his bad hand. Fuck that really hurt! The cockpit of his ship was cramped and a little outdated, and probably in worse condition than necessary due to his lack of maintenance. If it wasn’t urgent, it wasn’t getting fixed. Probably not the best attitude to have in space, but the Waratah had never let him down before, even if some of her buttons were jammed and sticky and he could barely swivel his pilot’s chair for old gum stuck to it. 

Right now all he needed to do was unwind, just forget everything for five minutes and relax. The artifact was safe, back in his jacket pocket and he wouldn’t be taking it off until it was in the boss’ hands. 

At least he’d be good for something, then. That was him: Logan Cooper, the man who could only support his family by turning to crime. But dirty money was better than nothing, he told himself over and over again when he was alone with his old nemesis the silence. With other people around, he could tune out these thoughts, if he was loud enough and receiving enough attention, but now there was no one, his mind let slip those sly home truths that had him reaching for the bottle.

Logan left the ship on autopilot and stumbled out of the cockpit, through the hall into his bunk. Like the rest of the ship, his room was in disarray, floor practically tiled with empty bottles and old packets of food, and even older underwear. His bedsheets were a mixture of disused blueprints and one frayed blanket, and the only item he ever bothered to look after was the photo of his family on the bedside table.

Where was it? There had to be some left, right? Logan fell to his knees and crawled under the bed. There had to be a bottle somewhere, surely.

Ah yes! This one would do. Logan unscrewed the cap and drained half in one slug. The old, stale beer tasted disgusting but it was the only thing he had out here. He’d have to stock up on more though. Hell, when he was rewarded for bringing the boss the artifact, Logan could have endless fridges of crisp, fresh beer at his every request. And he’d need it to cope with being the bastard responsible for destroying the universe. 

One moldy old beer wouldn’t be strong enough right now though, so Logan reached a hand into his bedside drawer, pulling out one of the few bottles that - too - weren’t completely empty. This was strong stuff, the kind Logan knew he should be careful with, but he’d long stopped giving a blasted fuck. If he overdosed? Well, the ship was on autopilot, so someone would find his body eventually. Maybe the little Owennii? Good for them.

Snapping the lid open, Logan rattled the bottle until a small pile of pills were nestled in his palm. That should be enough, surely. It had to be. He was running low on everything and needed more. He depended on getting more. Nothing would ever satisfy him but he couldn’t stop or he’d crumble.

Despite his recent drink, Logan’s mouth was almost too dry to swallow that many pills, but he persevered as the world around him melted away, first into a beautiful fantasy were he was loved and his family were safe with him in their own world, then darkness as he lost consciousness, sinking to the floor for a two-day slumber. 

 

...

 

Hunapo was having just as bad a time with things, and were currently seething as they gripped the controllers of their own ship, the Mehameha, gently steering it in the direction of the Death Adder headquarters, a route they were hoping beyond hope ‘Logan’ was taking too. They were so fucking behind it would be almost impossible to catch up. Even if they’d left that stupid planet right away, it would have been a close race. 

But now?

No, they’d needed to pilot a barely-functioning escape pod to the nearest space station to buy more fuel with the little money they had, drag it back to their ship, refill it, and finally get to chasing that sonovabitch Death Adder. 

The fuel they’d bought was now draining rapidly as they blasted through space at full speed, desperately checking their radar for any signs they were approaching a ship. Nothing. Hunapo groaned as their gaze flickered from the radar to the windshield and back again, but they were alone for now.

It was a relief to be travelling in the Mehameha again. Their trusty little ship, built like a burrow, consisted of seemingly endless tunnels only they could navigate, with tiny nest-like rooms they could curl up in to sleep and eat. It was an unorthodox way of living, but it made Hunapo feel protected, safe in their little burrow where no one could find or get to them and they loved it. Although they’d grown up in a space station, under the stars and space dust, they still weren’t too fond of space travel, of being exposed and one mishap away from being sucked into a void.

They were sore, both physically and emotionally, from that bastard throwing them to the floor, with scrapes and bruises and wounded pride. And to top it all off, their heart was still playing up, with palpitations so violent they struggled to breathe. All through the escape pod, their chest lurched and if there was one thing worse than throwing up, it was throwing up in zero gravity. Yeah, that escape pod had long been abandoned back on that shitty planet. 

When Hunapo told people they had no heart, most didn’t seem to realise is how literal that statement was.

A mission to wipe out a Death Adder outpost several years back had left them fatally wounded. There’d been no hope for them and the hole in their chest. Sure, the mission had been a success, but there was no way those Death Adder scumbags would go down without trying to take out the Owennii boss’ only son. Some dying fuck was blowing the brat back to his dad in a million pieces.

Fortunately for the Owennii dynasty - as it were - said little prince happened to be Hunapo’s best - and only - friend: Matthew.

Hunapo had stopped caring about many things a long time ago, but Matthew had always been there for them and they would willingly give their life to save his. He was the gang’s quiet, calculating little prince with a soft heart underneath a calm, responsible exterior: a half-breed product of an interspecies relationship, almost stupidly recognisable, really. He’d not been allowed out on a mission since.

They never thought they would jump in the path of a grenade, even at their lowest points - but they did and it ripped their chest open. Hunapo didn’t remember anything after that, but the rumour going round was that they’d died. Crazy, huh?

It turned out sacrificing your life for the son of an extremely powerful man had its perks, and before Hunapo was too far gone they’d been flown to the best hospital dodgy money could buy, on Matthew’s insistence. 

Their prosthetic chest, complete with nuclear-powered heart, was top of the range, if slowly killing them with the radiation it spilled into the rest of their body. Not for the first time, Hunapo had to wonder which range this technology was top of.

It didn’t matter to them, really. So they were dying? Hell, the other option was them already dead so at least they had a few years left to… well, life wasn’t exactly great but dying was still a terrifying thought. There were those moments though, stolen glimpses of something worth living for, something that made them want to hold on until their time was up. Sometimes they’d be able to just sit and talk with Matthew for a few hours, no one bombarding them with jobs or trying to start a fight, just whispering whatever came to their minds and not thinking about the bigger picture for once.

There was no one else in the world Hunapo would be willing to die for, but they’d do it twice for Matthew.

Right now though, all they really cared about was catching up with ‘Logan’ and clocking him straight in the nose. The moment they saw him, they would box that stupid grin right off his face and that was a promise if they’d ever made one.


	3. The almost-allies

Stelios- Cyprus

 

...

 

True to their word, the first thing Hunapo did the next time they saw Logan was punch him square in the face.

Until then, Logan had been having a rather pleasant day and a drinks break in his smooth journey.

After, eventually, waking up from a two-day drug-induced fever dream, Logan had dusted himself down and stopped at the nearest space station for something to eat and drink before he blacked out again, and maybe after that, he would find himself a dealer where he could pick up some more of that good strong shit because boy would he be needing it after he handed over the artifact and destroyed the universe. He’d probably end up having a constant supply of numerous drugs pumped into him when it happened just to forget everything.

The hour or so before his fateful meeting with Hunapo’s balled-up little hand, Logan stopped in a bar for a drink or two, right at the lower level of the space station where the scum collected and proved to each other just how scummy they were by constantly starting fights and trying to kill each other. He was right at home in the awful, dingy place, slouched against the bar as he watched three life forms of different species brawl over a dodgy game of poker. At least two people had been shot in arguments so far, and the steel walls had long been lost under years of dried blood and alien goo and other unidentifiable substances. At least the view of the nearest sun out the window was a pleasant sight. The beer didn’t taste poisoned either, as was sometimes the case when it was bought on the cheap.

He was on his third beer when Hunapo’s fist entered his life and his personal space.

Logan went flying, and unfortunately for him he landed right in the path and stomach of the biggest, angriest alien snoodew bastard who decided Logan’s nose wasn’t broken enough and whacked him right in the face once more. As he lay sprawled on the floor, among centuries of dirt and old food, wiping blood from his nose, a coppery tang flooded his senses. He balled up his fists to save them from being trampled on in the resulting fray. And to prepare him for when he saw that bastard little Owennii again.

In the time it took to pick himself up again, the entire bar had erupted into an almighty brawl. Logan gave a grimace at the sight, before ever so casually stepping over a downed, drunken lapyapadap and dashing towards the bar counter to hide for the moment. Not that he didn’t love a punch up, but he wasn’t stupid enough to take on everyone at once without a plan. 

Vaulting over the counter, he ducked down amongst boxes of beer, glasses, an understandably terrified bartender and that _fucking_ _Owennii_ , who at least had the grace to look a little sheepish. 

“Now listen,” they began, “I know I’m probably not your fav-”

Logan responded with a punch across the face.

“Fair enough,” they spluttered, spitting blood.

“Yer not getting one too, don’t worry,” Logan told the bartender - now on the verge of passing out - before glancing up as a pint glass smashed against the wall above their heads.

“I hate to say this,” began the Owennii, “but we may have to work together to get out of here.”

“Fuck off, cuntbucket.”

“Hunapo.”

“Logan, now fuck off.” Logan scrambled to his knees, peering over the counter to see the fight still going strong, and all because of one little fucker and their quick fist. Impressive.

“The police are on their way now,” Hunapo insisted, “they’ll fucking shoot us on sight and we can’t make it out alone.”

“Officer Väinämöinen is with them,” the bartender added, “this is his territory so if you want to - want to leave like nothing happened and we say no more about this, you gotta do it now.” Oh great, only the best shot in the galaxy: a man who hated the Death Adders and Owennii equally and never missed. Ever.

“Fucking hell. And you are?”

“Stelios.”

“Well, Stelios, I might just punch you after all.”

The boy flinched at that, shying away behind Hunapo. “Just doing my job, guy.”

Logan knew Hunapo was right though. He only had one working arm right now and could do with their quick lazer spear action to get him out of this mess. At the very least, it halved his chances of getting taken out if there was someone else with him that could work as a potential target.

“Fuck it,” he spat, “come on, Huwennii - fucking - Ownapo whatever.” Logan pulled out his boomerang, lighting it up in flames as he pulled himself into a crouching position, readying himself to jump. Next to him, Hunapo unfurled their spear, a pair of warm flames now dancing together in anticipation.

“Let’s try not to aim to kill,” they muttered, “this isn’t a deathmatch.”

“Sure,” Logan watched as a fnarpleglarp tore off one of the five heads of a sneepdop.

“Okay fuck that, let’s just get outta here.”

Well Logan didn’t need to be told again, leaping over the counter and punching a lapyapadap right in the trunk. “Let’s go!”

Next to him, Hunapo sliced their spear through an approaching tungen, its tentacle limbs flying all about the place before they ducked in front of him to deflect a sea of laser bullets. It was actually incredible, watching them move to attack people that weren’t him with such grace and fierce determination - hell, it was borderline arousing.

Logan decided to bury that thought deep down in the back of his mind, and focus on blocking the acidic blows of that murderous fnarpleglarp. The pair of them had about five minutes to get the fuck outta here or both their stupid bushy eyebrows would be either side of a bullet hole.

“Look out!” Hunapo ducked as Logan buried his boomerang in the necks of another sneepdop, slicing through three of them before pulling back - he could throw his weapon for more damage but actually wanted it to come back to him. If he threw it here it’d be on the black market before he’d had a chance to dive out the door.

“Back at ya!” Hunapo tackled him to the ground, burying their head in his chest as bullets rained over them both. Logan saw nothing beyond a mop of brown curls and flashes of laser weaponry from above. Time seemed to stand still as those tiny hands now delicately clutched his chest, and when they raised their head ever so slightly, there was a slight, breathless smile, shining eyes that locked on with his for only a moment. Oh, and there was a burning sensation in his chest that was borderline terrifying.

And then they were back on their feet, Hunapo taking him by the hand and darting through the crowd. They were a foot away from the door now, and for some reason Hunapo thought that was close enough to launch both themselves and Logan outside. Telling him beforehand would’ve helped though, helped him not land flat on his face. This was becoming an annoying habit.

Logan didn’t exactly have time to ponder the jarring pain in his chin or the wind knocked from his lungs as Hunapo pulled him up once more. Their boots slapped against the rusted iron floor, Logan clunking behind them, hand still in Hunapo’s and not willing to let go just yet. They’d rounded a corner and ducked out of sight just as shouts and shooting could be heard from the pub entrance. Fucking hell that was close - five seconds too late and he’d have been a bloody ragdoll. Hunapo crouched against the wall, sliding down behind the bins and clutching their knees with an arm. Their other hand was still in Logan’s, and he joined them on the floor, breathing heavily. Safe. The freezing wall was a relief against the sweaty back of his head, shoulder blades almost numb within five seconds, though his hand was still sweating in Hunapo’s, embarrassingly.

The metal corridors outside were just as dingy and messy as the bar, with this particular alley more or less used to dump the rubbish of several businesses. A purple, rat-like creature with six legs and a tiny trunk scurried past, hissing at the two of them as it went. Logan raised his eyebrows. What was that little fuck’s problem?

Apparently, he was sitting on its home.

With a mumbled apology to the little rodent, Logan finally let go of Hunapo’s hand to get up and help repair what he was now calling Trunkie’s home. Trunkie seemed to appreciate that, at least, giving him a little nuzzle as it scurried back into its own personal mess of cartons and wrappers and an old shoe for a bed.

“See ya round then, Trunkie,” he muttered, before glancing over self-consciously at Hunapo.

They just smiled at that. “You’re a soft cunt really, aren’t you?”

Logan shrugged, trying to hide his smile.

“Look...” Hunapo pulled themselves up with a grunt, “I don’t really feel like fightin’ you - not today at least. Maybe tomorrow we can go back to chasing each other down and engaging in our bloody battle to the death, but right now you’re… cool, I guess.” They shrugged awkwardly at that. 

Well, _that_ was unexpected. He’d just assumed they’d both go back to duking it out right in this damn alley the moment their need to work together fell away. “Uh, sure. We can have a shootout then, or something.”

Hunapo smiled brightly. “Looking forward to it!”

And then they were off. Hunapo darted down the alley with a skip, waving as they went. Logan did briefly consider hurling his boomerang after them - a simple gesture and they’d be out of his life forever - but for some reason he couldn’t. He’d killed before, countless times, but now he had inhibitions and he had no idea why - morals he didn’t even know he had, maybe? Logan couldn’t bring himself to betray the person whose debt he was in.

So he just let them walk away.

...

Logan was halfway back to his ship when he found out just what a stupid cunt he was.

He'd almost missed it. He could’ve been light years away before discovering that the _fucking_ Owennii had pickpocketed him, but thankfully he happened to twitch his fingers up, brush against his pocket only to have the material collapse towards his chest. Empty.

Logan generally didn’t panic nowadays - he’d seen too much to live any other way but recklessly - so the cold dread in his stomach and the knot in his throat were an unwelcome feeling. He pulled himself out of his frozen, jarred trance to wheel around and bolt back down the corridor he came from, until his heart was pounding and his legs were sore. _Fuck_ , he had better not be too late.

But, thankfully, Logan only needed to make a few twists and turns before he was creeping up right behind them, Hunapo only metres from their ship.

“I betcha feel real fucking smug,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of hair and throwing them against the nearest wall, face slammed right up against the iron bolts holding the place together.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Hunapo tried to duck away, but he roughly turned them round and caught them by the throat, pinning them against the wall of the loading bay once more.

“Give back the artifact,” he spat, “your stupid fucking plan didn’t work.”

“I don’t have it!”

Logan snarled and threw them to the floor. “Bullshit!” The panic was still there, eating away at him. What if it wasn’t the Owennii who was the guilty one? What if he had dropped it in the bar and it was now in enemy hands? He thought he would be sick with the fear quickly turning into anger.

When Hunapo tried to crawl away, Logan slammed a boot down on their chest. He ignored their gasps and splutters as he pressed deeper, ignored their flailing arms and twitching legs, his only thought being: _why the hell did this prick sound and feel like an android all of a sudden?_

“The fuck?” He pinned Hunapo to the floor by their arms, tearing open the neck of their t shirt to find a mess of metal plates where their chest should be. Below him, Hunapo was rigid, eyes in a silent plea to leave them alone.

At the centre of their chest, a glowing cylinder glared back up at him, whirring and chugging and right where a heart should be. Smoke spilled from the sides of the thing, and when he grabbed at it, the cylinder and the crater it was nestled in seared his fingers, even through his gloves.

“Don’t -” Hunapo gasped and wiggled, but his knees were crushing their wrists into the floor and they couldn’t escape. They twitched and writhed, but he wasn’t letting them go until he had the artifact back.

“What is this then?” He tugged at the cylinder ever so slightly.

“My heart.” Their voice was almost pathetic, a rasping plea as he twisted the cylinder, hand burning to blisters but he didn’t care. 

“Your heart?” What fucking kind of cyborg had a heart like this? “Looks like a tiny nuclear reactor, made to fit a tiny little thief who won’t be walkin’ away with their life if they don’t gimme back my artifact.”

“It’s mine!” 

Logan tugged harder.

“It’s fucking not, now give it back or I’ll kill ya.”

“I know you won’t.” Backchat at a time like this? Owenniis really were a bunch of backwards idiots - Logan was certain of it.

“The fuck makes you so sure?” He could rip out their stupid fake heart right now if he wanted, but he was curious to know just what the fuck was going through their mind, if anything, in fact, was.

“I’d be long dead by now,” they spat, “you’re weak, though you see me as the weak one.”

“Shut up,” Logan hissed. He’d been merciful before - what was suspicious about that? Sure, the Owennii were his sworn enemies and it had been drilled into him time and time again to kill them on sight, but here he was, still pussying out of just ending this annoyance. Okay, maybe it was a little strange.

“Go on then, do it,” they looked so smug he almost went and did it.

But luckily Logan was saved from being pushed towards murder by remembering - almost too late if he was honest - that breaking a nuclear reactor like that could possibly result in a meltdown or leak or something he’d rather not be around for. “You’re a damn human bomb and you know it. I kill you and I die too.”

“You’re not as stupid as you look then.” Hunapo was smiling, though their eyes were murderous. “And fuck me you look thick as shit.”

“Don’t think I won’t be opposed to blowing us both into the next solar system if you cross me again.” Logan struck like a snake, digging into every pocket he could find until his fingers curled around that fatal cube and it was in his pocket once more. Hunapo seemed to deflate under him, and made one more feeble grab for the weapon, wiggling unsuccessfully against his grip.

“Give it back,” they whimpered, “scumbag son of a whore. I’ll - I'll track you down and take it from your dead body!”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” Logan pulled himself up and brought a boot down on their chest, delighting in and fearing the crunch of dented metal beneath his foot. He hadn’t actually blown them both up now, had he?

But Hunapo just lay whimpering on the ground, curled up on their side and doing everything they could to not cry. Their breath was jagged and Logan had to wonder if they were dying. Did it matter though? They reached up for him, or the artifact, he couldn’t quite tell.

“Go home, titch,” he spat, kicking them in the stomach to be safe, “don’t go playing grownup games if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

And with that, he was gone.

...

Hunapo had to crawl back to their ship.

They shuddered and gasped, chest heaving and whirring and every movement was accompanied by the fear that their heart would finally fall out and break and they’d be left with a slow, painful death here on the floor. Or a quick one if the thing blew up and turned them to charcoal. Luckily, on a slightly different note, they’d waited until after throwing up before crawling through the airlock and through the hallway of the Mehameha. This was bad. Once more, that damn Death Adder had not only outsmarted them but come close to finishing them off too. _Bastard_. When they caught up with him, they were going to - they were going - they would...

Hunapo’s hands twitched and jumped as they struggled to focus on their controls through a searing headache and double vision, and a dribble of blood might’ve ended up dripping onto the joystick. When they breathed in, it came with a worrying rattle from their chest, still burning from working overtime to the point where even they were starting to feel it. Radiation sickness was a constant in their life now, but when it came in waves there was little they could do to not feel helpless, like death itself as their life trickled away in front of them.

Hunapo had never been so humiliated in their life, and that was really saying something. They knew their trembling couldn’t be entirely blamed on an overload of electricity and radiation, and they actually feared their next meeting with Logan. What if next time he finally killed them? What if they were to be powerless as they watched him reduce the universe to dust and tear them into the mess of mutated atoms that they were?

They had to keep fighting, though, Hunapo decided as they finally found the joystick.

Another round of coughing blood, and their vision swam as they passed out at the wheel.


	4. The betrayal from an enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borisov- Bulgaria
> 
> Radacanu- Romania
> 
> Andrei- Moldova

 

Maybe Logan felt some shred of remorse at the thought of his little Owenni nemesis possibly dying alone in the loading bay of a space station absolutely swarming with criminals who would be sure to finish them off, even if he couldn’t. Maybe their drained face and twitching fingers as they reached for him occupied his mind a tad too much as he sat alone in his cockpit and he wondered if he’d been too harsh on the little titch. But on the other hand, fuck em.

Only Logan was allowed to call himself scum.

He felt like scum here too though; oh boy, he sure knew how to pick his locations. The planet Balmyna was, to be blunt, an absolute shithole. It was a place people only went if they had nowhere else to land, a choked rock. Not only was it a barren, rugged wasteland where no crops grew and most of the population was in crippling poverty, but the one reasonably civilized settlement was also a dictatorship for added measure. Not only was it a dictatorship, but it was a dictatorship that didn’t fuck about when it came to catching and executing criminals, particularly gangs as notorious and as dangerous as the Death Adders. And maybe the Owennii too but they weren’t as important to Logan. He made sure to leave his jacket in his ship, and a scarf around his neck was the only thing hiding his easily recognisable tattoo from the ever present police patrolling the city, and keeping Logan from a death sentence. If he was discovered, and somehow wasn’t shot on sight, then he doubted a trial would make up part of his remaining hours. Only a prison he would be lucky to survive and, before that, an interrogation little more than torture.

Buiya - the city state he found himself in - was a crowded, clustered place, a mess of houses carved into the side of a mountain, zigzag streets snaking up to a palace on a plateau Logan couldn’t currently see, but had had a spectacular view of from his ship. The specks of green making up the palace gardens were the only dash of colour in this suffocated world - even the gold of the palace roofs tended to blend in with the glaring sun and sandstone. It was a grand building, the grounds bigger than the city itself and dotted with other, smaller buildings Logan wasn’t classy enough to guess the purpose of, but they looked far more important than the average home in Buiya, with white walls and gold roofs. The rooms of the palace must’ve been bigger than anything Logan had ever seen, like wide fields of marble and the softest beds and sofas imaginable. Maybe he could buy something like that when he gave his boss the artifact. 

A big fancy palace didn’t sound all too appealing to him, but a massive garden full of plants and strange animals would be the perfect retirement plan.

The street Logan found himself in was bordered by a row of houses to the right, and a drop to the next street on the left. The road itself was simply the flat roofs of the houses below him, precariously thin and teeming with people, carts, stalls and animals, a mess of marketplace one could easily get lost in if needed - or, more commonly, by complete accident. And no, there was no railing to stop anyone falling off the edge, and a few people had done so right before Logan’s very eyes. No one seemed genuinely hurt by their falls though. The street was steep in its climb to the palace, but luckily most of the hand-pulled traffic could levitate off the ground, saving the people _some_ back strain from having to pull their work through cobblestones of all things. Who still used cobblestones to pave their roads? The people of Buiya, apparently.

Logan wasn’t just here for the thrill of it though; he had to get that damn hand of his fixed and pick up supplies before he made that final stretch back to the boss. The shrivelled, toothless, little surgeon that stitched his hand and applied the salve that would allow his flesh to knit back together had swindled him out of most of his money, and Logan knew just killing him, although straightforward and cheaper, would most certainly not go unnoticed. He’d never make it to his ship alive.

He had little left in his pocket for fuel, but decided it wasn’t the biggest deal to him; the boss would soon be blowing this shithole out of existence. 

As big as the dangers were, Balmyna was a popular spot with both the Death Adders and the Owennii, due to the government having absolutely no information on both gangs and their members. Sucks when none of the other planets wanted to align themselves with you and share vital information on criminals because you kept violating basic sentient rights and refused to cooperate with planet unions. It meant credit sticks - the galaxy-wide form of currency - were obsolete here, but he could find an exchange point somewhere the change up some more of his money, right? Or pickpocket, it would serve this planet right for still using paper money of all things. 

Logan felt he was reasonably good at blending in, looking like any other weary, beaten-down resident of Buiya just trying to find something he could afford to eat. He looked like the other men here: dark and tall and muscular, and easily could’ve spent his day in the mines or sat in his little workshop repairing and crafting. He kept his head down, kept his eyes from wandering too far and kept walking forward. 

Right into the Owennii.

Logan would’ve liked a moment to ponder just what Hunapo was doing right in front of him when they were supposed to be fighting for their pathetic little life, or running back home to their mother like the scared kid they were. He would’ve liked a moment. But Hunapo was already waving their spear in his face and hurling abuse. 

Fair enough, he supposed, ducking to avoid the path of fiery red. He did try and kill them - not that Logan was actually able to finish them off - but could they please calm down and not draw attention to them both in a place like this? They didn’t look capable of calming down though, eyes blazing and normally smooth face twisted into an ugly snarl. Their t shirt was still torn from their previous encounter, and their nuclear heart glowed almost menacingly at him.

“You absolute bastard!”

“That’s all well and good,” he hissed, leaping back out of the path of their spear, “but could you keep it down a little? Now’s not the time.”

“What do you mean?” Hunapo almost screeched, “since when did that matter?”

“Since -” well he couldn’t go ahead and say it now; the two of them were starting to attract a crowd of curious onlookers, hungry for a bit of action. These kinds of disturbances would not be welcome amongst authority figures though.

“Look,” he tried instead, “how ‘bout we go find an alley somewhere and you can stab me in peace?” Preferably before this crowd attracted the attention of -

“What’s going on here?”

Oh fuck nevermind. As if the very stars themselves personally decided to fuck up his day, a pair of utterly terrifying policemen barged through the crowd to see what the fuss was all about. The two were smaller than him by a long shot, but they had guns and they outnumbered him, plus Logan wasn’t too sure just how to run away in such a crowd.

He only spared a glance at their nametags - Borisov and Radacanu -  and their faces. Borisov had dark hair and a hard, lined face, cautious as he scanned the situation. Radacanu, however, seemed more excitable and hopeful about the whole scene. And Logan, for the life of him, couldn’t tell which of the two would be more trigger happy.

There was only one way he could think of that would get rid of pretty much every problem he had at once, so Logan wasted no time in stalling.

“Look!” he cried, brandishing a finger at Hunapo, “an Owennii!” He grabbed Hunapo by the shoulder, spinning them round to show off the jacket they apparently didn’t think of removing beforehand, and the jagged kiwi symbol emblazoned across the back.

As if trained in the art of being a pantomime crowd, those gathered gasped beautifully in shock, some even reeling and fainting at the sight. Apparently they’d not been paying attention to Hunapo’s clothing before, attentions taken up by their bright red spear.

“You fucker,” they hissed before twisting round to yank off his neckscarf. “Look! Look at his tattoo! This man is a Death Adder!”

On the one hand, they were a dirty little snitch. On the other, Logan supposed he deserved that. Nevertheless, he wasted no time in tripping them over and bolting off into the crowd, sending scrawny little people flying in all directions. 

Hunapo, for some Godunknown reason, scrambled up and darted right after him. Logan scowled at that, and wasted no time in charging off to the right and jumping down onto the streets below. He hit the floor with a grunt, wind knocked from his lungs and hands screaming with pain. No time. Logan hauled himself up, despite protests from his joints, and got running again. He knocked a floating cart of vegetables aside in his haste, glancing back to find not only Hunapo had followed him down, but the two policemen too. 

Could a bloke not catch a break?

Heart in his mouth, Logan pushed forward, as fast as he could carry himself, ducking down into another street. This time, he went to do a forward roll, but the moment he was in the air, the entire world around him went black.

… 

It had been a low blow, but Hunapo was desperate.

They only had two containment pods left as it was, but if using one meant Logan could get captured instead of them then it was worth it. A knee-high metal boulder clattered into the street where Logan had been, and technically still was. They had no idea if a containment pod was comfortable or not, but judging by how large and muscular Logan was, it could be a tight squeeze regardless.

Serves him right, the damn snitch.

Hunapo landed right next to him, rolling onto their side painfully before almost falling up onto their feet. Their chest was burning as they ran, almost making them keel over in exhaustion, but they had to keep going. As Hunapo glanced back, they saw in horror that - for the first time in their life - the containment pod hadn’t worked. It just spat a raging Logan back out onto the floor like he was giving it indigestion.

Logan was special then, one of the few to keep their wits about them in the pod. Good for him, in a way. So he could break out of a containment pod using only his anger and sheer force of will? Impressive. Unfortunately, he chose to do so right in front of the two policemen and in his anger and confusion didn’t really do a lot to prevent his own arrest. They ducked into the nearest house, through a window left stupidly open, to watch in glee as he was tackled to the ground and tased.

Their heart was still working overtime, churning out almost unbearable waves of heat but at least they were safe for the moment, peeking out through the shadows of the dark room and the curtains keeping them hidden. Sweat poured from their face and they thought they would be sick from running. They allowed themselves a few moments to recover in shade and solitude as they watched the Death Adder’s limp form get dragged away.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

Just as they were wondering just how to get the artifact - something they really should’ve accounted for before deciding to get Logan caught - the piercing scream of a small child almost caused them to short circuit in fear, and they jumped round to see a little boy, pointing up at them in fear and backing away. He gave another scream that tangled with the sob in his throat, a bloodcurdling noise as he dived to hide behind a curtain that split the one room in his house and Hunapo followed in some attempt to calm him down, tripping over pots and pans and raggedy toys in their haste.

The boy was curled up on a mattress bed, half-hidden under a blanket with his dark hair poking out in damp strands. And he was still screaming, in between his pleads to be left alone.

Hunapo would be all too happy to leave him alone - he was a child, after all, and they didn’t like hurting children - if only he would stop bloody screaming. But he didn’t, even as they began to plead and beg and even threaten, it had no effect on the child except to make him even more hysterical.

“Andrei?” Oh, so he had family then? Family who had eventually heard the child’s shrill screams over the crowd and buzz outside. Hunapo ducked back into the main area of the room to find Radacanu standing amongst the clutter of his apparent home. They only had a moment to process the panic and dread on his face that quickly bubbled into rage before he’d lunged forward and knocked them clean out with a blow.


	5. The fear in the final hours

“Let me go!” Hunapo squirmed and wiggled in their captors’ grasps, kicking out, though it did little good. Borisov and Radacanu had an arm each in a crushing grip, like they were deliberately trying to break the Owennii’s arms. Their hands were bound in metal: a hideous ball of iron that squeezed the more they pulled and had more or less cut off the blood supply to Hunapo’s fingers by now. The toes of their boots occasionally scraped against the iron flooring, but for the most part they were suspended by the pair of considerably taller policemen.

“We could,” Borisov mused, “if you can give us a good reason as to why the fuck we would do such a thing.”

Hunapo responded with a groan and yet another attempt to kick him in the shin.

The two were leading them down a row of cells, smooth silvery walls and doors blocking souls most likely awaiting a quick death. Hunapo couldn’t see in the tiny box-shaped windows, and they didn’t care to either - criminals like them were hardly a fascinating sight. The corridors all looked the same to them, seemingly endless, the only sounds joining their protests being distant groans and mumbles and growls. Hunapo wondered how big the place was, having only seen the inside of a grimy interrogation room and these halls that could possibly stretch out for miles above or below them, they had no way of telling.

They’d woken up in the interrogation room. The blinding light of the overhead lamp had confused them more than they’d already been, a headache searing through them like they were being cut with a laser. Despite that, they’d known they were in a bad place and needed to get out. Fast. Their first move had been to get up and try to escape through the one door they could see. Unfortunately, between them and the door had been a massive desk and the two policemen from before. Hunapo now had a black eye for their trouble. Their second move had been to try and wiggle out of their cuffball, and for that little effort they were rewarded with pinched palms and fingers that felt like they would snap any minute now. Hunapo had had to admit they were stuck for the foreseeable future, and probably a day or so from certain death. 

They were technically dying already, but the certainty of it still had still thrown them. 

They’d not given away any names during their interrogation; they’d not told their captors a lot besides their own name and insisting that they meant Radacanu’s brother no harm and were just trying to hide from the law. Radacanu did believe them, eventually. He was quick to use his fist though, the thing obviously connected directly to his heart, ready to strike at the thought of something happening to the child. Borisov had eventually forced him back to the matter at hand: Hunapo being part of a known gang. It seemed they had no idea of the full extent of the artifact’s power, but did ask them about it, having apparently taken it from Logan when he was searched. Hunapo had just shrugged, saying it was probably of sentimental value, and useless. There was no way these two were being told about its true power. They’d tried to give away as little as possible, but swore they were not on Balmyna to cause trouble - a lie, but they technically had not committed a crime besides being an Owennii. That alone, however, was enough for a death sentence here, and tomorrow they would be taken out into the prison courtyard and shot.

“Didn’t think so.” Radacanu let go of them to unlock a cell door, giving Hunapo next to no time to acknowledge the cell’s other occupant before Borisov threw them to the floor. Their cuffball fell away as the door slammed shut, luckily, and Hunapo rubbed their sore hands to breathe some feeling back into them. They just lay sprawled against the cold iron, clutching their palms gently and trying to steady their chest. They also tried to get used to that sweaty criminal smell, mixed with rust and rotten porridge.

So this was it, then? Their last night, and it would be spent in a cell of all places. If they were going to be honest with themselves, Hunapo wasn’t too sure how it could have ended up being any other way. Everything had been confiscated from them: every weapon, tool and gadget they had that could be used in an escape. They were stuck. Stuck here until they were snuffed out, like they’d expected all along but still pretended wouldn’t really happen.

They didn’t think the problem of certain death could actually get any worse, but looking around their cell quickly told them it’d be a rough night too.

Because, for some reason, they were sharing it with Logan.

“Oh, hello again.” They didn’t know why they were trying to be friendly with him, maybe in the hopes that he wouldn’t kill them at some point during the night. Or torture and beat them - just on their last night at least. Was that too much to ask? They weren’t in the mood to fight anymore. Hunapo scrambled up, retreating until their back was to the wall.

Logan, however, looked absolutely murderous. He was slouched in the corner, t shirt ripped, hair messy, lip cut, resting a hand on his knee as he apparently debated with himself whether it was worth getting up to end them. He remained silent. Hunapo could see his nostrils flare as he breathed hard, chest rising and falling under all his muscle that, as appealing as Hunapo found it, unnerved them, having managed to get on the wrong side of him before. 

“I know I - once again - am not your favourite person in the universe,” they tried.

Logan glared at them sullenly. Cold sweat clung to his face, and the bright tattoos on his arms that they now saw for the first time shone, a rainbow of dots snaking up and down his skin. There were trails of dots and swirling circles and in between Hunapo could swear they saw creatures and oceans and constellations. The things seemed to flicker as he shifted, like they were alive. Hunapo wondered what he thought of their own arms - also covered in intricate symbols, this time a striking black - before deciding he was probably too busy hating their existence to care.

“Oh come on,” they scoffed, “were you really expecting to go out any other way?” 

“A shootout, perhaps? I’d have liked that. Gone out like a badass.” Logan managed the briefest of smiles, but it was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced with desperate anger. “I have family, you know? Family that was counting on me.” He placed his palms on the floor, like he was considering getting up and coming over here. Hunapo braced themselves for hand to hand combat, balling their fists and bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of their feet.

“Then why the _fuck_ would you become a criminal?” Hunapo scoffed, finally settling down near the door, sat with their legs sprawled out and their head resting against the cold wall. At least whilst they were talking - even if it was about their situation - their own thoughts were kept at bay. They didn’t have to think about dying for two seconds.

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice,” Logan spat.

“I’d drink to that if I could. Maybe it’s for the best though.” Hunapo gave a shrug. “Family are just enemies you have a harder time getting rid of.” Like a gang. That being said, they had manage to get rid of their family pretty quick. Well, their family had gotten rid of them but that was besides the point.

“I’m honoured you consider me family,” exclaimed Logan, hand on his chest and batting his eyelashes. 

Hunapo chuckled at that and the pair fell into silence. A painful, crushing silence. Neither seemed willing to speak, even though it was slowly consuming them both, even though soon they’d never be speaking again. Time trickled by agonizingly slowly, and yet Hunapo was relieved it did - the longer it felt the longer it would feel like they had left. The wait was killing them, though, and they knew time would run out eventually.

As minutes dragged into hours, Hunapo might have tried to doze off at some point, but it didn’t work, because how the hell could they sleep at a time like this? There was no ticking clock, no drip drop of a tap to let them know how slow or fast time was passing. It trickled by and Hunapo played no part in its steady journey. The silvery cell had no point of interest, besides a bucket for a toilet they’d rather die before touching, something that could easily be achieved here. 

Oh, they could always look at Logan, too.

He was attractive, they had to admit now there was time to stop and look at him properly without getting into a fight. He had a strong jaw, and if they were allies, Hunapo would definitely feel safe around him, with his muscular arms and chest, and when he wasn’t consumed with anger he looked rather friendly, trustworthy, even. The boyish grin didn’t hide any maliciousness, even at his darkest, and judging by the fact that he could never bring himself to kill them - despite his profession - there was a soft side down deep inside him, probably reminiscent of that family he’d mentioned. Maybe a weakness here, but there was something endearing about it.

They twirled their curls around their fingers absentmindedly as a chill began to seep into the room. The cell had no beds, no mattresses, not even a raggedy old blanket thrown in the corner, and Hunapo curled into a familiar fetal position on their side of the cell, floor numbing one side of their body even further. They may have started shivering.

When Logan jumped up with a growl, it startled them so bad their chest whirred and heaved once more.

“Fuck this,” he snarled, “there has to be a way out!”

Hunapo stared at him stonily, not bothering to get up from where they were sprawled out on the floor. Where had this will to fight come from all of a sudden? “You know? Somehow I doubt it.”

“So what? We’re just stuck here?” Logan was frantically darting from wall to wall, searching for a vent or trapdoor or anything that could be used in an escape, but there was nothing except solid metal. Now that Hunapo thought about it, how were they supposed to breathe when the air ran out? And how long would that take?

“Let’s try not to panic.” Were they reassuring themselves or Logan? Didn’t matter, really, because it helped neither. 

“Over death?” Logan moved to stand over them, but he had no malicious intentions this time, rather he was studying the door behind them for any sign of weakness, any crack in a supposedly flawless system.

“Perks of being terminally ill, I suppose,” said Hunapo, “you stop giving a shit because it’s coming anyway.”

“You’re dying?” Logan paused, leaning away from the door to crouch beside them.

“We’re all dying,” Hunapo replied, “I’m just dying at warp speed.”

“Oh, fuck. Well...” Logan reached out a hand, letting it hover awkwardly as he decided on the best course of action before petting the top of their head. Hunapo blinked, genuinely unsure of what to do or say as he withdrew his hand, resting it on his knee and drumming his fingers. “Is it cause of your chest?”

“Yeah. Nuclear fuel and an organic being don’t exactly get along,” Hunapo shrugged, “even with all the precautions and safety measures in place, I now have radiation poisoning and several types of cancer.”

“Fuck me,” Logan breathed.

“No thanks. I know you’d rather not die a virgin and all, but I’m not up for it.” They gave a wink. “Maybe a later though if I’m up for a little self-loathing.”

“Shut up,” Logan whined, “look, mate, I have no idea what to say to you. Comfort’s not exactly my strong point.”

“It’s cool. I’m not interested in being comforted.” And yet, Logan still insisted on giving them a hug, resting his head on theirs and wrapping an arm around their shoulders.

“You know I’m radioactive?” they muttered, though the contact was terrifying them. It was exhilarating though, their first gentle touch in months, years if they didn’t count Matthew. Logan was warm, and surprisingly soft, holding them tenderly and nuzzling at their hair and resting his other arm on his knee. And, just as they thought, they felt safe. Logan couldn’t protect them from their upcoming execution, and even if he could protect himself then chances were he’d abandon them the moment their sham of an alliance was no longer needed, but Hunapo was as content as they could be with the enemy’s arms wrapped around them. 

“We’re fucking dying, you muppet, who gives a shit?”

“I guess… thank you though.” Hunapo smiled, despite themselves, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “With enemies like you who even needs family?”

Logan frowned. “What is your problem with family anyway?”

Hunapo shrugged at that. “Listen, trust me when I say you’re better off alone.”

“I’m gonna have to disagree,” he replied, “I love my kids so much.”

“You’re a dad?” Wait, how old _was_ he?

“Pfft, nah.” Logan laughed at that. “Kid brother and sister on my home planet. I send money back to them.”

“They know about the Death Adders?”

“No, I - I told them I was a space cowboy.” He seemed a little sheepish at that, and would have been sweet, if it didn’t look so utterly sad.

“Are you scared they’ll hate you if they knew the truth?”

“I just don’t want them to think I failed,” Logan sighed, “and all that stuff I’ve done, the stuff that haunts me, they don’t need to know. They don’t need that stuff in their minds for the rest of their lives.”

Hunapo nodded in agreement. The things they’d seen and done would stay with them for the rest of the night, it kept them awake sometimes, replaying each moment where they’d thought they died, or been covered in someone else’s blood or pushed to do things no human or sentient should ever have to imagine.

“Thinking about how happy they are helps me though,” Logan added, “makes me feel less worthless, the fact that I can support them and they’re alive and safe just running their little farm.”

“You’re not worthless,” Hunapo muttered, “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone test me as much as you have. You’re a tough guy, and any evil criminal gang would be lucky to have you on their side.”

Logan laughed at that. “Thanks. Just so you know, you’re not worthless either. I can't really say anyone who cuts off my favourite hand doesn’t get to be my equal.”

“Oh I know I’m not worthless,” Hunapo smiled bitterly, “my mother sold me into the Owennii to buy drugs. I can tell you the exact amount I’m worth.”

“Life really hasn’t given you a break?” Logan visibly squirmed that, letting his hand drop slightly.

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, “you fucking stink of booze and drugs. Can we agree our lives were a mess til the end?”

“I’ll drink to that on the other side.”

“If - if it helps,” Hunapo didn’t see how it could but if they were continuing on with these death row confessions, they might as well spill a secret not even Matthew knew; “she wasn’t much of a mother anyway. The kind you’d try to run away from if you weren’t so terrified of getting caught, so to say.” When she’d not been absent, Hunapo had acted as her little punching bag and they deserved it, for ruining her life and her youth. Hunapo was a parasite and would never be seen as anything more, never be truly loved or cared for by anyone. Alone. Friendless. An island.

“Fucking hell,” Logan muttered, glaring at the floor, “the old man was like that. Never used to bother me as long as he was leaving the little ones alone. Then he started on my brother and -”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking killed him. Good riddance.”

“Yeah, good riddance.” Hunapo squeezed his hand, moving their head so they were resting on his chest. The pair fell into a comfortable silence, offering each other what little they had left in these final hours: their company and their arms. Their legs were still stiff with cold, but Hunapo was no longer slowly freezing on the cell floor, and even though Logan still smelt of old drugs and booze, he was soft and they were protected from the rest of the universe, at least for now.

They certainly weren’t expecting Logan to jump up at any point, so when he did they were thrown onto their stomach with a yelp, glancing round in confusion and hurt before finally deciding he hadn’t suddenly become hostile.

“Oh fuck this!” Logan snarled, “we’re gettin’ ourselves outta here.” 


	6. The impossible escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, it's been a while since I updated anything and I'm so sorry for it. Warning for a bit of violence in this chapter.

“The hell you mean ‘we’re gettin’ outta here’?” Hunapo spared a moment to blink back utter confusion before scrambling up to join Logan, who was currently trying to kick down the door. He glared at the thing with pure, concentrated hatred, pouting like a small child when it didn't budge. Well... Did he actually expect that to work?

“Are you mad?” they exclaimed when they got no reply.

“Look,” Logan groaned, “I want to keep fighting, and I want to keep fighting with you. To be honest,” he added with the faintest blush, “there’s no one else I’d rather keep fightin’ with.” Well, Hunapo was thoroughly seduced.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” they muttered, and Logan couldn’t for the life of him tell if they were joking or not. He decided to roll with it.

“So what?” they tried again, “do we wait for the guards to come back for us and tackle them then?”

“Nah, we’d never make it out alive,” said Logan, finally deciding he couldn’t kick down the door successfully, at least without alerting every guard in the building first. “Not to mention they’d be cuffing us first and I don’t wanna try getting those things off.” Even if they managed to avoid the cuffballs, they couldn’t avoid the guard’s guns, at least not without a decent head start. Logan and Hunapo would have to break out themselves and get as far as they could undetected if they were to have any chance.

Hunapo squeezed their palm lightly, wincing at the spattering of blue bruises that had formed over the past few hours. “You're right.”

“Damn right I am!”

“How the fuck do we get this thing open though?” 

Logan glared at the door, like all the answers would magically appear to him or the thing would helpfully burst into flames. “There’s no other way out, we’ve checked, so...”

“It runs on electricity, right?” Hunapo stepped forward, rubbing their chin thoughtfully. Okay, electricity they could do, and with that thought in mind, maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they originally seemed. 

“Yeah. Cunt used some sorta key-card thing to let me in. Why?” Logan frowned. He watched Hunapo in anticipation as they studied the lock, giving them space to work but still eager to see what they were trying to do. He stood on his tiptoes to peer over their head, craning his neck.

“I reckon I could use my heart to fuck over the system,” they told him, “you know, blow all the fuses and overload everything. Can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“Certain death usually takes up most of your thoughts, you know, when it’s really fucking certain.” He was grinning though, patting them on the back so vigorously they almost bowled over.

“Watch it,” they hissed, “I’m still a human bomb!”

“Oh fuck sorry!”

“Hey it’s fine,” Hunapo just waved him away, “just… stand back, okay? And try not to touch the walls. You know, metal and all.”

“Isn’t the floor metal too?” Logan glanced down in horror, shuffling nervously.

“Sure. But our boots have thick rubber soles. We should be fine as long as nothing else touches the floor.”

"You mean like my massive d-"

"Logan, _please_."

Logan nodded, though he was clearly still nervous at the thought. He clasped his hands in front of him, elbows tucked in and back straight, eyebrows pushed together in worry and his mouth a wobbly line. Even in their dire situation, Hunapo had to admit the whole thing was sweet. Or comical. They meant comical. 

“How the fuck do I do this again?” Not the most reassuring thing to hear, Hunapo was willing to bet, but how often did one use their nuclear powered prosthetic heart to disable the lock of a top-security prison on an alien planet? This was a new, even to Hunapo.

Logan took a step back.

Hunapo studied the lock. It was quite basic, all things considered: a box with a back they could pull off to reveal a network of wires. Unfortunately, though, they couldn’t just start pulling the wires out as that would destroy the lock completely and the two of them would be trapped forever. Hunapo was sure they could manipulate their heart into opening the door, having done so before on a smaller scale, but there was no guarantee. Even if they were successful, they could still end up shocking themselves badly, maybe even to the point of electrocution. 

Not that regular execution was any better.

Hunapo pulled a loose wire from their own chest, one that was frayed to the point of revealing the copper underneath, holding it delicately in their fingers as they shivered in anticipation. They pulled more of the wire out, feeling like they were tugging on their own veins. The thought made them a little woozy. 

Despite giving a gentle sway, Hunapo managed to successfully pull enough wire out of their chest to bury in the lock whilst keeping them at arm’s length from the thing. They knew they had to focus, make the lock a part of their body for the fraction of a second they had.

Hunapo, tongue between their teeth, pushed the wire into the lock, and was immediately thrown across the room.

… 

The convulsing body of Hunapo missed Logan by inches, smacking against the opposite wall and crumpling to the floor. Before him, the door creaked open ever so slightly, and his heart jumped at the sight. Freedom wasn't a guarantee, but, nevertheless, he allowed the relief to wash over him. Near-death was an old friend at this point, but he still feared the moment his luck would finally run out. Not right now though. Now, he had a chance.

Logan took a step forward. He was free. Hunapo’s plan had worked, somehow. What the hell did they even _do_? Didn’t matter, really. The point was that the two of them had a chance to escape, so long as they were clever about it.

“That was brilliant, Hu -” When Logan wheeled round to face his saviour, he finally saw the full extent of the damage, and the price Hunapo had paid for his freedom.

“Huna?” He knelt down beside them, thankful that their chest rose and fell - albeit in a ragged formation - and they were still groaning feebly. Their hand twitched slightly, but they didn’t seem to be conscious. A vein in their temple pulsed like it was in great pain, and he winced at the sight.

“Huna? Please...” Logan didn’t think himself a man with many morals or convictions - those things were nothing but pitfalls to him - but it just didn’t seem fair that Hunapo had saved them both and was now too injured to escape. Maybe even dying. Erm, dying with more urgency than before. 

Logan knew he should just leave them there and save himself. He was a cold, heartless criminal and other people were just there to be used, pawns to be thrown aside when their purpose was served - but he wasn’t a criminal at heart. He was still - deep down - little Logan Apari Cooper, the boy who loved the outdoors and his family and adventure, who believed every creature was equal and deserved life. He’d tried to bury his innocent, farm boy self for years now, but that smug child always found a way to resurface at the worst of times. It was why he’d given Alfred of all people a chance, and why he just couldn’t leave Hunapo behind to die.

He cradled them in his arms - just for a mere moment - and he saw, not an enemy, but the jungle outside his house, and his young arms holding on to some animal or creepy crawly he'd smuggle into his bedroom to nurse back to health, desperate to keep from his father's prying eyes. At one point, he'd had ten creatures hidden under his bed or in the bottom of his wardrobe. That skinny twelve year old would never leave anyone or anything to die, even if it had tried to kill him. Even if it would try again the moment it was fully healed.

With a final glance at the door, Logan groaned before scooping up Hunapo’s body. They were, thankfully, quite light for a cyborg, but still heavy enough for Logan to know they would slow him down considerably. This was stupid. He was stupid. If the worst came to the worst, then he wasn’t sacrificing himself to save them, but why let it get to that in the first place?

With a groan, he had to admit to himself that he wasn't even sure he _would_ abandon Hunapo in a dire situation. It was too evil a thought.

Yet, despite how impractical it was, Logan carried Hunapo on his back as he poked his head through the door. Nothing. They were clear for now, no guards in sight and, thankfully, none of the other doors had been opened either. Although a mass breakout could give him the cover he needed, Logan didn’t like the idea of being surrounded by a horde of hardened criminals who would see them as yet another target. A weak, cumbersome, target.

Certain that the coast was completely clear, Logan set off in the direction he’d been dragged hours before.

...

Lucky for Logan and his unconscious companion, they ran into no trouble in the search for both an exit and the storeroom where all their belongings had been dumped. Exit still not in sight, Logan ducked into the storeroom he'd eventually stumbled across. Things had been getting dire, and Logan didn't like to cloud his mind with panic, but... well... it couldn't exactly be helped. He'd thought he'd be stuck wandering until he dropped dead. 

But now he had hope layered upon hope.

Not only was his own stuff lying on a rusted, mesh shelf, but pretty much everything he’d ever wanted in his criminal career, plus a few gadgets he'd never seen before but now that they were in front of him, he wanted to grab like a small, greedy child and keep for himself. The storeroom itself was no bigger than a cell, covered in shelves spilling over with gadgets, weapons and assorted items Logan never even dreamed of owning. He wasn’t even a fan of guns, but wondered if he could take the semi-automatic laser pistol for himself. Hell, its owner was probably already dead.

For starters, though, he decided just focus on grabbing his own things before he was caught, like his boomerang and board. Oh wow, did it feel good to have those back again, like being reunited with a lost limb. Most of all, though, the artifact was right back where it belonged: in his pocket. 

It was the first time Logan himself had taken the artifact out of his jacket pocket - as opposed to Hunapo’s wriggling little hands slipping in and taking it by force - back when he’d considered leaving it on his ship. Even though it would’ve probably been safer back on the Waratah too, Logan just hadn’t been able to bear the thought of parting with it, of leaving it unattended. That Owennii might've searched it whilst he was gone. He took it out again now. Quickly, just to check it was still there and he wasn't about to leave without it before slipping it into his trouser pockets, in case Hunapo woke up and their hands felt like wandering.

He recovered his slimecubes too, using one to bind Hunapo’s hands together around his neck, so they were dangling from his shoulders down his back like a cape. At least now both his hands were free to fight when needed. He also scooped up Hunapo’s gaquestrian cubes with the intention of handing them back to them when they were awake; or most of them, at least. The Death Adders had been desperately trying to get their hands on the things for years now. 

Just as he was stuffing the last of his and Hunapo’s belongings into his trouser pockets, Logan heard the click of a gun behind him. 

_Perfect_.

“Don’t move. Hands above your head. Don’t fucking try anything, boy.”

He raised his hands, slowly and careful to not make any sudden movements. 

“Turn around.”

Logan did as he was told, turning to face Borisov as calmly as he could. The policemen was pointing a gun right between his eyes, jaw squared with a glare of contempt only for him. Logan was calm. He was. He swore it. On the outside, at least, he gave no signs of panic, not even a tremble in his hands. He would never give Borisov a single sign of his fear.

“Okay, I know this looks bad,” he tried, to no avail. Behind Borisov was Radacanu, gun also trained on Logan.

“I see someone couldn’t wait for his execution,” Radacanu laughed nervously at his own words, and even though Logan had had a gun pointed in his face many a time before, the idea that this man was one whim, one finger, away from ending him, was highly unnerving. Radacanu - and Borisov, for that matter - seemed way more passionate about their job than Logan was about his. There was a reckless air to Radacanu, one Logan could relate to easily, but fuck he hated being on this end of such a mess of emotions. Even looking like he was going to make a wrong move would spell death.

“I don’t usually like giving in to our prisoners’ wishes,” continued Borisov, “but if you want to die sooner...”

“Nah, I’m alright.” And with that, Logan ducked down and punched Borisov in the stomach. 

He buckled with a grunt, and Logan swiped the gun, dodging Radacanu’s shot and grabbing Borisov’s hair.

“Don’t move,” Logan growled, pointing the gun at Borisov’s neck.

Radacanu froze.

“That’s more like it;” using Borisov as a human shield, Logan inched forward. The policeman lowered his gun as he drew nearer, falling back through the doorway. He kept moving. The plan was working, somehow. It wasn't even a plan, just a reckless, thoughtless action that had given Logan a chance. He couldn't afford to blow it.

When he was back out in the corridor, Logan moved the gun to Borisov’s temple. Radacanu flinched. Breathing heavily, he dropped his gun, eyes pleading and desperate. Sweat was beginning to bead on Logan's forehead. “Which way to the outer walls?”

Radacanu allowed himself a moment to blink in confusion before pointing, chest heaving. “Tha-that way. Please -”

“I won’t hurt him if you behave.”

“Fucking shoot him,” Borisov hissed, earning a whack in the head with the butt of his own gun.

“ _Do you want him to die_?” Thankfully, Radacanu seemed more willing to listen to him than his own partner.

“That’s what I thought,” Logan backed away slowly, still clutching a woozy Borisov as he inched down the corridor. Radacanu, to his credit, just let him go. When Logan reached the end of the corridor, he threw Borisov to the floor and bolted round the corner.

Hunapo still dangling from his back - and making a good human shield too, but, for once, Logan was unsure if he liked that - and Borisov’s gun still in his hand, Logan threw himself down corridor after corridor marked by endless cell doors. Distant pounding footsteps growing ever nearer chased him as he darted in the vague direction of what he hoped were the outer walls, lungs screaming for air despite his athletic build. Once more, he was trying not to panic, even as a stitch took hold in his side. His mind was stuck in limbo, still alive but not daring to acknowledge it. The future was invisible and impossible right now, and at any minute a bullet or laser could hit and he'd be dead without ever knowing he was dying.

Not long after the footsteps fell away - leaving his own clunky ones to keep him company - Logan saw something that almost made him cry with relief. Almost.

Natural, bright, sunlight filtered in through a tiny window of a corridor perpendicular to the one he was currently running down: an outside wall. A simple window though it was, it might have been made of stained glass, it was such a beautiful sight. It was perfect, really, all he had to do was blow a hole in the wall and fly away to freed-

“Not so fast!”

The two policemen skidded into view before him, either side of the window and it seemed Borisov had found himself a new gun, one that was now trained at Logan’s chest. Of course, they probably had a labrynth of shortcuts and secret passageways at their disposal here, ones Logan could never hope to know. Oh _fuck_. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

Well, _obviously_ : test out his new superweapon.

Logan slowed to a halt, slipping a hand into his trouser pocket to retrieve the artifact before raising his arms in mock surrender.

“Alright,” he called over to them, “you win. I’ll come quietly.”

Although Borisov simply narrowed his eyes, Radacanu raised an eyebrow to complete his expression of complete disbelief. Fair enough, Logan supposed.

As a little gift to the man, he decided to prove Radacanu correct.

He had absolutely no idea how to make the artifact do its… thing, but he was cornered and at the end of his energy reserves. Hunapo’s body was burning into his back and the policemen were seconds away from shooting him dead, so he let his instincts guide him, and swung the cube like a bat.

The artifact had the power to destroy everything. In capable hands, it could tear a planet apart in nanoseconds. It could reduce an entire solar system to scattered atoms. It could wipe whole galaxies from existence, when it’s wielder had the slightest clue what they were doing. Of course, even if the artifact had been fully activated, and his hands weren’t gloved and cutting off his connection to the thing fully, Logan had no clue how to use the artifact to his advantage.

Even so, his haphazard swings did create a force that raced towards the end of the corridor - and guards - causing a sizable explosion, and that was all he needed to blow a hole in the outer wall and the two policemen out of the way like they were toys. 

The blast and utter shock of it all left Logan reeling, struggling to stay upright and not fall back and crush Hunapo. Not to mention possibly triggering a nuclear explosion. Just the one would do. It was a hard task, though; t he wind whipped at his hair, and dirt stung his eyes, sunlight glaring through the rubble as he kept running, pulling his board out and unfurling it. His ears rang, time slowing as the dust swirled around him. He didn't dare hope, or breathe. He tried to ignore the carnage he'd just created, the splash of red through the dust swirling around him like a personal hurricane. 

Just as he reached the mess of debris and stone where the wall had been, Borisov staggered into view. His dark hair was matted with blood, one eye lost under a waterfall of gore and the other looking straight past Logan and the chaos around them.

Only at Radacanu.

The man wasn’t moving, half buried under a blanket of rubble, unseeing eyes poking through his scraggly hair as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Alin?” Borisov ignored Logan, half-crawling, half-stumbling over to his companion to cradle his head in his hands. Logan didn’t know or particularly care if Alin was dead, moving past and throwing himself onto his board as an enraged Borisov finally snapped out of his horror to shoot after his retreating back.

Logan was long gone by then.

He cheered as he surfed away, sun in his face and wind guiding him back to his ship, hidden amongst rocky mountains in the distance. Balmyna fell away behind him, and he left the plateau far behind, a sandy mess miles below him. Hunapo’s plan had worked! They were free!

There was still the question of what the future held, and who would be left in possession of the artifact, but, for now, Logan just celebrated their little victory.


	7. The future spoken too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip this is so late. I'm really sorry! I do hope to get this finished as soon as possible though, and there are only three chapters left, wow.

Luckily, no one gave chase as Logan fled from Balmyna, his little Owennii in distress peacefully asleep in his bunk, regaining their strength with their ship tethered onto the back of his. Logan allowed himself a moment to relax, letting go of the controls and leaning back in his chair, hopeful in the thought that they were safe, just for now. A glance at the radar told him the area was clear and he wouldn’t be disturbed. Just to make sure, he waited a good few hours before even considering switching to autopilot. 

Course set for the general direction of his boss’s little space station headquarters, Logan hauled himself up and out into the halls of the Waratah, stopping in the kitchen to grab a pair of beers and a packet of freeze-dried ice cream before making his way into his room. 

Hunapo was still asleep, face round and soft and free of worry for once. Their thick hair was splayed across a dirty, lumpy pillow, tucked under his one blanket in his bunk like an innocent child, chest whirring calmly and consistently. 

He decided not to wake them for the time being, though he did worry about how long they’d been out, and if they were actually in a coma or hiding severe injury. What if they had a head wound hidden under those curls, one that was slowly killing them? Where the hell could he go if they were in trouble? Any law-abiding hospital would either throw them both out or subdue them until the police could be called. Any medical experts who tended to turn a blind eye to such things were either allied with the Death Adders - and therefore would refuse to treat an Owennii and probably grass Logan up for his trouble - allied with the Owennii - and therefore Logan would not even get to land on their planet or station before he was blown to pieces - or were simply too scummy to even bother contacting. There had to be something he could do, right?

As strange as it was to admit, life would feel empty with Hunapo dead, like everything they’d both strived for back on Balmyna had been for nothing, like he’d carried them to safety only to be robbed of their company. Not only that, but he was almost used to them showing up and causing trouble for him. It was a strange constant that felt like a new normal to him, and he didn’t want to let them go just yet. Logan and Hunapo were clearly destined to meet again and again; of all the sentient beings in the universe, there was no one else he’d rather have this odd little relationship with.

He could, of course, lie about Hunapo’s identity. If their health took a turn for the worse, he decided it might be worth risking destroying their jacket and claiming they were a simple bystander-turned-accomplice who was to become the newest Death Adder once they were healed up. The risk being that if they had gang tattoos to match his own, marking them as an Owennii for life, there was absolutely nothing he could do. If they were found out, they’d both be killed. It was hard to tell with them though, as their remaining skin was almost completely covered in tattoos, many of which looked more personal or cultural as opposed to anything related to their gang. Same as Logan, then, besides the adder on his neck.

Would he be able to convince his boss that Hunapo was a defector? Could he even convince Hunapo to choose such a path? On the fluke that they would actually agree to join him, that they believed any feelings they had were strong enough to choose Logan over everything they knew, would they want to risk whatever they had left of their life on something that could go so wrong?

That was another thing: Hunapo was going to die. If they could pull through, they’d only have, what? Months? Years, if they were lucky? Logan hadn’t actually asked. And how in the name of the entire universe was it fair that he was quickly falling for someone who would be snuffed out so soon? Hunapo’s short life had been plagued by tragedy and there was nothing Logan could do to make things any better for them in the time they had left. 

Even if they reciprocated, or at least tolerated his feelings, what did Logan have to give them? A smelly, messy home on the Waratah? A life no better than the one they’d left? They could keep his heart, but it was a pretty pathetic gift, all things considered. 

Hunapo snored softly in their sleep, and Logan had to resist the urge to run his fingers through their hair, something he used to do to his sister when she was little and having trouble getting to sleep. 

Another stupid option he was considering was somehow convincing Hunapo to abandon both gangs with him, and holing up in their own corner of the universe. Now that they had the artifact, Logan was sure the two of them could defend themselves from any attempts at invasion with that alone. He could bring his kids too; well, he’d have to, to avoid them being killed in retaliation - he’d sooner be tortured to death than let that happen.

They all could be a little family, Logan realised. The two of them could raise the kids together, maybe in a little home they’d carved out for themselves, maybe even on that jungle planet where they first found the artifact. It was out of the way, and completely empty.

Logan smiled at that. They could build a cabin by a lake, go swimming every day, and Logan could go out exploring the myriad of wildlife the planet had to offer, with Hunapo if they wanted. It would be the perfect way for them to spend the rest of their life.

Hell, if they had the artifact, maybe Logan could throw his weight around and find someone willing to heal them, or at least give them a few more years. A decade, even. If not, well, Logan could look after them for however long they had.

Honestly, if he was going to keep the artifact and use it for his own gain, he could do anything he wanted. The universe was infinite and so was his power. 

It was stupid, making plans for a life together with someone he’d met a handful of times, someone he was supposed to have killed twice now, but his reasons weren’t entirely selfless. The opportunity to leave the Death Adders alive, now that he had the artifact, and be with his brother and sister again was just too tempting. Even when Hunapo passed on, they could all have a life of peace and safety.

Or was he being too optimistic? Logan wasn’t quite sure.

Long after he’d drained both his and their beers whilst waiting, Hunapo stirred under his hand, and Logan winced as he realised he’d been absentmindedly stroking their hair after all. For someone who lived rough, they had the softest curls, and since they were awake now, he didn’t see the need to withdraw his hand. 

They looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking slowly. Logan threw them a reassuring grin.

“Morning sweetheart,” he whispered, “or evening. I don’t know either.” 

“Where the fuck -” Hunapo glanced around; “Am I in your ship?”

“Yeah,” Logan grinned, “I suppose you could tell from how rugged it is.”

“If by ‘rugged’ you mean it’s as much of a mess as you are.” Logan smiled, despite himself. Hunapo, however, just frowned; “What the hell am I doing here? Last thing I remember, we were in jail.”

“Well we’re not in jail anymore!”

“Depends,” said Hunapo, regarding him with caution, “have you taken me as prisoner? I’m not worth much to the gang if you’re trying to ransome me,” they bit their lip, “if you - if you want to torture me -”

“Not at all!” Logan scoffed, “can’t a criminal do something nice for a person without everyone thinking he’s up to something illegal and immoral?”

“You rescued me?”

“No need to sound so surprised! Fuck, mate, I owed you my life.” Logan fidgeted slightly. “I wasn’t going to just leave you to die after you blew open the door to our prison cell.”

“But the artifact-”

Logan waved a hand. “I got it, don’t worry. We can fight about it later.” Or not, as he hoped would be the case.

“I suppose.” Hunapo relaxed back into the pillow, chewing their lip and seemingly lost in their own thoughts. “Feel like shit, to be honest.”

“You had a pretty nasty shock,” agreed Logan, “need some more sleep? Just, don’t worry about anything right now. What happens is gonna happen, but it ain’t happening at this moment in time, so...”

“Probably should rest more. Gonna keep playing with my hair?”

Logan winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I like soft things.”

“No, it’s okay.” Hunapo yawned, “keep doing it, if you want. Helps me sleep...”

“Right, gotcha.” With a wink, Logan settled back down next to them, gently stroking their hair until their eyes drooped and they settled back into a peaceful sleep.

… 

“I don’t need feeding-” Hunapo half-heartedly swatted the spoon away from their mouth. Logan pouted like a small child. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted, trying to navigate his spoon-ship past their hand to their mouth, with little success. 

“I am perfectly capable of feeding myself though.”

“Right, sure.” He put the spoon down, helping them into a sitting position before handing them their tray. Hunapo gave a smile of relief as they helped themselves, spoon shaking slightly though they didn’t spill a thing. Logan just watched them, silently cheering them on over the seemingly simple task.

“About the artifact -” they began though a mouthful of dried ice cream.

“Don’t worry just yet. We’ll fight about it when you’re better.” Logan lay back, sprawled out on his bedroom floor with a pile of old clothes acting as a nest. He’d slept on the floor next to them, like a guardian of some sort - guard dog, maybe? -, a position not as comfortable when reasonably sober.

“Oh?” Hunapo’s eyes seemed to gleam as they broke into a grin, “have you got a fetish for fighting me or something?”

“No,” Logan’s face flushed at that. “We’re just… like… you know...”

“Two sides of the same coin?” supplied Hunapo helpfully in a faux-mystical voice. 

“Yeah, sure.”

“You have issues, mate.”

Logan scowled in mock-hurt. “We both do, for fuck’s sake.”

“So what do a pair of fuckers with serious issues do until they’re well enough to fight again?” Hunapo scooped up the last of their dried ice cream, glancing over expectantly with half-lidded eyes. Logan had a few ideas, none of which were entirely appropriate to share with his arch-nemesis. Or another human being.

“You like rugby?” he asked instead.

“I love it!” Hunapo’s eyes widened and their face lit up, “I watch it all the time, or, well, when I can.”

“Same here,” Logan broke into a grin, “I used to play morning til night as a kid, though our days were only five hours. Got pretty good, was gonna play galactically, until the whole... murdering my dad thing.”

“Yeah that’ll squash any career,” Hunapo laughed. “I never got to play rugby as a kid. In fact, there wasn’t much to do back home besides sit on my balcony and watch people get stabbed in the street below. But then I saw it on TV a few years back, and now I try to catch a game when I can.”

“Where the hell did you even grow up?” exclaimed Logan, hauling himself up to look at them in horror. 

“Kōtonga,” Hunapo shrugged.

Logan had to grimace at that. Kōtonga was a space station no one wanted to visit, let alone be born on. Shaped like a crescent moon, the underside - right at the bottom tip - saw a murder every hour or so; the entire station was an overcrowded mess of rickety flats piled on top of each other and protected by a bubble of artificial atmosphere. He’d stopped there several times on missions to take out certain targets, but never stayed long. He’d rather take his chances back on Balmyna. Logan could just imagine a tiny Hunapo though, probably with thicker hair and bright eyes, sat with their little legs dangling through the bars of a balcony, watching people die horribly because there was nothing else to do. Well, as long as it was a welcome break from their mother… 

“You didn’t even stand a chance at life, did you?”

Another shrug. “Still fightin’, which I’m sure you love.”

“Yeah...”

… 

Hunapo cheered and punched the air, startling Logan yet again as the two sat curled up on his bed watching what had to be the third old rugby rerun on Logan’s tiny computer screen. Its blue, translucent monitor shimmered, perched up on his bedside table by several empty cans as human clashed with fnarpleglarp in a space station built to be a stadium. Logan had longed to take his brother and sister to a real stadium, and although that dream had been crushed time and time again, he supposed once he made up half of the most powerful couple in the known universe, he could always risk sneaking in to somewhere to see a game. Or having someone build his own personal stadium.

“Fucking fnarpleglarps always try and cheat,” he slurred as yet another player was sent off.

“Yeah because they can’t scrum for shit,” Hunapo added, knocking back the last dregs of their beer. For two days now, the two of them had not done a whole lot besides drink and watch rugby and it had been the best two days of Logan’s life. The two of them had more or less slipped off their gang’s respective radars, not communicating with a soul as they waited for Hunapo to recover. Chances were everyone assumed they were killed or captured. Or captured then killed.Or trapped on a distant planet after obviously failing their missions and left to rot. Maybe more competent members were being dispatched to the planet where the artifact was hidden as they were lying here, expecting to walk over their bodies and hopefully succeed this time.

Hunapo had asked about the artifact several times now, and, every time, Logan just brushed them off, telling them not to worry about it just yet. He’d still not made a move though, or proposed any of his little ideas for the future. He had to actually get Hunapo to like his company first.

It was strange. Usually, he’d have said something by now, not caring if he came across as sleazy and cheap, but this time he was absolutely terrified.

He’d have to do something soon though; Hunapo was walking about by themselves now and he couldn’t avoid the question any longer.

“Who d’ya reckon would win outta the two of us?” he asked, abandoning all interest in the game and turning to Hunapo.

“In rugby? Me, of course!” Hunapo turned to face him too, blowing a curl of hair out of their eyes. Obviously incorrect.

“Yeah, of course.” He smirked at that.

He loved staring at their eyes - now that he had a chance to do so without having to fend off their spear - shining and mischievous despite everything. They were a bright green, like fresh new leaves in spring, so different from his own grey-green eyes, surrounded by lines from grinning a little too falsely - sham happiness and humour that exhausted him more than fighting. Hunapo’s heavy-set eyebrows added character to their face, much like with his own. Flecks of amber in their eyes reminded him of a flaring sun, of planets covered in lush, tropical forests, of nebulas.

“What are you looking at now?” When had they gotten this close? And why the hell wasn’t Logan pulling away?

Oh right, because he was drunk and reckless and knew he was running out of time.

“You have galaxies in your eyes,” he muttered, mere millimetres from their face and tickling their lips with his breath.

“You’re such a bellend,” they muttered back with a laugh, closing the gap and placing a soft kiss to his lips.

Had Logan been able to process any rational thought, he might’ve kicked himself for not doing anything about his chapped lips or the fact that he hadn’t washed since first escaping Balmyna or how his breath was enough to get a person drunk - though he himself wasn’t completely shitfaced just yet - but the fact of the matter was the only thing in his mind was some vague thoughts screaming at him that this was actually happening. They were kissing. Hunapo Davies, his sworn enemy, who had saved his life, was kissing him.

He tried to kiss back, almost throwing himself forward and bashing their teeth together. Their foreheads collided too for good measure. When Hunapo pulled away at that, though, he followed, kissing back tenderly in the hopes of making up for it. He succeeded. Logan brought a hand up, burying it deep in their thick curls and simply massaging their scalp, out of fear of accidentally pulling their hair too hard. It was really thick. Their lips were soft too, eyes fluttering shut as they kissed back with as much vigour as Logan. They nibbed at his bottom lip and he simply melted.

“What the hell are we doing?” When Hunapo pulled away, they were breathless, hands against his chest as their own burnt brightly, almost uncomfortable for Logan. 

“Having a bit of fun,” he tried. 

“How much fun?”

“Let’s… let’s just start with kissing and see what happens, okay?” Then he leaned in again, closing the gap and kissing them softly, tracing circles on their jaw with his thumb. Logan decided to slow things right down, start gentle and caring and possibly build up to something more. Didn’t matter. They were alone and had all day now the barrier was down and he just needed to stop thinking about it so much.

Not thinking too hard always worked for him.

Just ask any Death Adder he’d worked with.

Hunapo placed a wet kiss on the corner of his mouth, moving down to his jaw and neck as he ran his hands over every inch of them he could, hissing at the hot metal plates making up their shoulder blades before moving further down to the small of their back, tracing a finger up and down their spine. It had its desired effect, and Hunapo shivered as they moved closer, nibbling at his ear before pulling away.

“Want a beer?” they asked.

Okay, not what he was expecting, but he could never turn down a nice, cold beer.

“Sure!” It pained him to see them leave, to have their warmth withdraw along with their clever hands, fingers tracing his jaw as they pulled away. Admittedly, Hunapo seemed unwilling to pull themselves up off the bed and saunter across the room.

“I expect you to still have some of your clothes on when I get back,” they warned sternly as they lingered in the doorway, “don’t do my job for me.”

So much for seeing what happens. Logan felt giddy though, a little nervous for the first time in a good while too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone he’d felt a genuine connection to, only lustful one night stands with various aliens that were some of the weirdest moments of his life.

He took off his shirt, but left everything else on as he stumbled into his tiny en suite washroom, barely a cupboard containing a sink and his toothbrush. He gave his face a scrub and sprayed up a cloud of deodorant to bathe in, in the hopes that he’d not smell completely terrible.

He, somehow, managed to get back into bed just in time as Huna’s footsteps pattered down the hallway. Logan lay on his side, propping his head up with a hand and when Hunapo came back in the room, they burst out laughing.

“Looking good, tough guy,” they chuckled, but Logan could see their blush too. They crossed the room and handed him a pint glass, keeping one for themselves as they sat back down on the bed. Logan took a long slug, gazing at Hunapo as they did the same. His gaze lingered on their lips, pouted as they sipped their beer.

“I guess we’re taking things a bit further than planned,” he mumbled, draining his beer in a series of deep sips.

“There was a plan?” Hunapo joked.

Before Logan had time to reply, they were on his neck once more, kissing slow and deep at any point they could reach with their mouth - except his own. The impersonal gesture threw him, like Hunapo was trying to keep their heart out of things, not be truly intimate. Fair enough, he supposed. The two of them still had no solid reason to trust each other, only circumstances that forced them to work together until their company was no longer needed. Like now though. Was it still not the case with Hunapo? They didn’t trust him after he’d cared for them? For no reason at all? No, apparently not. They still needed more time to fully warm up to him, right down to the heart. After all, they really didn’t know each other that well.

Hunapo might still think this was a trap.

Logan couldn’t blame them, so he elected to try his best in gaining their trust. He reached down to plant a kiss on their lips, and they turned their head. Strange. Had he done something wrong? Had they seen something disgusting in some corner of his ship whilst searching for the kitchen?

“Want me to go slower?” he asked. He could go slow. So slow they could go back to watching the rugby, if Hunapo wanted.

“Nah, I just…” Hunapo leaned back and took another sip, thinking deeply. “My stamina!” they exclaimed all of a sudden, “it’s not what it was. I’m still a little weak.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Logan leaned back against the wall, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly as he watched them drink. Hunapo’s eyes flickered between him and their glass, saying nothing and seeming almost bashful. He drained his glass of the last dregs and set it down on the floor.

As he stared at the thing though, it swam ever so slightly before him. Logan barely registered it had happened, deciding his companion was far more interesting than a sign that he’d already had a fair bit to drink.

“I reckon we could work something out,” he blurted, “I - I was gonna wait until you - until we - erm, until after but-” He buried his face in their neck. Everything swam and his brain turned to cement. “I think - Hu- Huna, I might love you.”

“No you don’t,” a voice a mile away told him.

 

…

 

Hunapo face was emotionless as Logan fell off them, collapsing onto the mattress with a snore. 

All good things had to end, and it was best Hunapo ended this before they had time to acknowledge their feelings, or Logan voiced them for real. Their chest stung in a way that couldn’t be put down to heat and radiation, but it was for the best.

Only one of them could end up with the artifact. They didn’t know just what Logan had decided could possibly change that, but it wouldn’t work. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning. There was no point kidding themselves.

And yet, they still made sure to tuck Logan in. They kissed his forehead as they stole the artifact, but ignored their damp eyes as they began to search for the cockpit.

  
  


…

 

“Hey, Mattie boy,” they slurred into the mouthpiece as, in the corner of their vision, their friend gave a grimace. The Mehameha chugged along nicely, despite their unsteady driving and lack of ability to see properly. Maybe stealing Logan’s alcohol supply was a little low after everything else they’d done, but they needed it more than him. It was good for silencing guilt. Almost.

“What the hell happened?” Matthew squeaked back at them. “You’ve been gone for days and then you show up looking like this?” The longer he spoke, the more flustered he became. “Why are you drunk?”

“Ce-celebrating.” Hunapo knew if they let him continue, Matthew would rant all day about how reckless they’d been and how they should at least turn on autopilot. Had they turned on autopilot? They really should turn on autopilot. 

Well that stunted him. “Celebrating?”

Hunapo wiggled their eyebrows, leaning forward towards the screen. “I got it. I got the artifact!”

Matthew’s brain seemed to pause. Then he broke into a grin. “You made it? You actually got the artifact?”

Hunapo scoffed. “Do you really think I’d be on my way home without the damned thing?”

Matthew shrugged. “Look, last we heard, the Death Adders had it, and from that I just presumed you were dead.”

“Well that’s just rude.” Hunapo wrinkled their nose; “you think I can’t take some halfwit brute? The Death Adders prefer brawn to brains, remember.” And heart over head. Or was Hunapo just heartless?

They were. They were the worst human in the universe.

“Still, you were gone ages.”

“I got arrested,” they waved a hand, “then… look, it’s a little strange. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“You had an affair with a Death Adder?” Matthew’s response was immediate and flat. Were they really that predictable? But as they thought of just how much care Logan had put into looking after them, ‘affair’ seemed like too cold a word. Too impersonal. Too belittling. 

“How did you-?”

“You have a thing for big tough guys. We’re best friends, remember?”

Great. “Look, it’s not just that. The guy busted me out of prison and nursed me back to health!” Silence. “Well, we helped each other get out but he could’ve left me for dead and he didn’t. He… looked after me.”

“Well…” Matthew shook his head, “you two are just as bad as each other then. Helping a sworn enemy? You, by all accounts, should be killed the moment you get here.”

Hunapo batted their eyelashes. “Oh you’d never. You love me too much.”

“Not to mention I owe you,” Matthew stuck his tongue out, “consider us even now.”

“You saved my life before.”

“I… and in doing so made you terminally ill.”

Hunapo shrugged. “You tried. Look, the point is, we bonded and I feel bad for drugging him and leaving him on a strange planet now.” Admitting it didn’t help in the slightest. Even when everything seemed so far away, their voice cracked under the idea of what they’d done, of what Logan would wake up to.

“Like, I know we kill people as part of our job… but you’re a dick.”

Hunapo swayed in their seat. “I think I love him.” Funny way of showing it. But what did it matter if they admitted it? Nothing would happen and they both were doomed.

“Well that sounds fake.” Matthew looked like he wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen and slap sense into them. “You left him on a planet to die!”

“Not die, just… seethe,” they said, “look, is it possible to fall in love with someone you met three times? People fall in love immediately sometimes, right?”

Matthew was horrified. “Probably not. Like, I seriously doubt it.”

“And if all we’ve done is fight and try to kill each other?”

“Definitely not.”

“I’m not sure that’s a scientifically valid answer. Do you have evidence?”

“Why am I even bothering?”

“And if said person is in a rival gang and you need to choose between him dying or you dying?”

“You’re an idiot! Even with my help, I have no idea how you’re still alive.”

“Honestly? Same.” Hunapo’s face fell. “Listen, you’re in with the big guy, right? The big boss.”

“Well, yes. I’m his son.”

“I… I haven’t failed too many times, have I? I know taking the artifact took longer than he’d have liked. Is Mr. Kirkland mad at me? Is it safe for me to even come back or should I go fetch my muscle man?”

They thought Matthew would scoff or roll his eyes - or even worse confirm that they were flying to their death - but instead, he just smiled. A warm smile. Genuine. They felt safe. “Huna, you’re a hero! You’ve handed us the universe on a plate. Dad might even like you more than he loves me.”

Hunapo smiled. A hero… Finally, their life felt like it was worth something. 

A warmth rushed through them, so welcome that - for a moment - they managed to forget about Logan.


End file.
